


Nevermore

by DOA333



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bamf!Stiles Stilinski, College, F/F, F/M, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Other, Scott didn't tell Stiles, Slow Burn, Spark Alley College, little angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 15:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10415337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DOA333/pseuds/DOA333
Summary: Stiles Stilinski lost his friends in Sophomore year. His relationships with them grew strained. They were keeping a huge secret from him and refused to tell him anything. He tried to reach out, but they did nothing but lie to him. Eventually, he broke, losing them. When his magic awakened he didn't have anywhere to run. Until one day he did. A mysterious woman offered him a chance of a lifetime.A true education in magic.An magical college in Michigan called Spark Alley University wanted him to come join their ranks. With little to no hesitation, he agreed.  Eight years after that fateful decision, he is a powerful figurehead. Abilities beyond measure, he can move mountains with a flick of his wrist.He has many names to many different people.Rosso. Rojo. Rouge.In English, he's called Red.Eight years ago, Stiles left Beacon Hills. Now he's coming back.(In which decisions are made. Whether they are the right ones or not is for you to decide.)-----The first question has a yes answer too. Of course it does.His best friend worked there once.His ex-best friend (left him) (betrayed him) (lied to him) (ignored him) (left him) worked there once.





	1. once upon a midnight dreary

**Author's Note:**

> This is a disaster of a clusterfuck that I wrote in two days. I definitely have a plan for future chapters. If I actually write them is the question. 
> 
> Teen for minor swearing. (Subject to change)
> 
> Comment ships you want. I haven't decided yet. 
> 
> Comment characters you want. I haven't decided yet. 
> 
> All other language stuff is google translate. If you speak Latin, Scottish Gaelic, or Polish, please help me. Please. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I promise Ill try to write more as quickly as possible. Thank you so much!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Please comment)

Deep in the forest no one can hear you scream. 

The trees block out any sights that a savior could see, and the bird calls and wind overwhelm your terrified noises. Not to mention the distance, isolating you from any hope of rescue. 

Deep in the forest no one can hear you scream. 

He's deep in the forest now. Black boots snapping sticks as he walks the forest floor. Red hoodie shocking against the muted greens of leaves. His hood is drawn, shadowing his features even more than they would be in the shadows of these branches. He walks slowly but with plenty of confidence. He has walked this path before. 

Ahead there is a clearing. The ground is rough. Cracks litter the area, breaking deep into the earth. Rocks upturned and scattered about. It looks like a bomb went off. 

But at the same time, it is peaceful. 

Grass grows over the cracked ground, flowers are blooming among the many rocks. Serenity fills the air. It is welcoming. 

In the middle of the clearing there's a tree. It’s old and gnarled, taller than the trees that border the open space. It casts dark shadows over the whole area. It could seem dark and foreboding. It should seem dark and foreboding. But the open field and petals blooming on the thick branches make it seem nothing but serene and calm. It is beautiful. Nothing could go wrong. 

He reaches the end of the clearing. He seems lost in flight, gazing blankly at the flowers. He walks across the area, coming to a stop in front of the tree. He raises his hand. Gently he places it on the old bark. His blue eyes fall shut and his lips part slightly. His vein start to glow a deep golden, reaching down his hand, ever so softly. Light travels across his body, spilling off him into the tree, then down to the old ground around him. 

He stands, still as a statue, for just a minute, then drops his arms to his sides. He collapses in a kneel, relaxing his body into a prayer. His eyes are still shut, his lips still parted, and he slowly raises his arms to the sky, still clasped together.

“Fosgail mo shùilean agus leig dhomh fhaicinn an fhìrinn. (Open my eyes and let me see the truth.)”

He chokes, eyes flying wide open as he gasps for air. He throws his head back. His hood falls off, revealing brown hair and lightly tanned skin. He has feminine features, such as delicate cheekbones and soft bow lips. His eyes start to glow, like a light turned on behind a piece of paper. He inhales sharply, and the glow increases. He jerks up, a puppet on invisible strings and then relaxes into a gasping pile at the base of the tree. 

He hiccups and looks down. As he watches the tree shifts, roots lifting out of the ground and parting like the Red Sea to reveal a dark staircase downwards. He rises to his feet. He hesitates only a second, before steeling himself. He steps forwards, and begins the trek down. 

 

The steps take him only a short distance. The walls are stone and roots and dirt, seemingly clumped together naturally. But he knows it isn't completely natural. This is powerful druid magic. 

He reaches the end of the staircase and steps into the room. It appears to be rather unused, dust covering the floor. The walls are lined with books, but there are empty spaces where some appear to be taken away. For a moment the man is confused, but then he remembers what his nauczyciel said to him before he left. 

\------

“Every territory has a dom wiedźma, but they might call it a bana-bhuidseach dachaigj. Or if you are a silly untrained american, a witch’s home.”

“What are they?” He asks. He’s been here for almost two years, but he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing her speak polish. He only faintly remembers hearing it before this, probably from his mother, but it sounds like home nonetheless. 

“It is a cave or tunnel buried under the oldest tree at the border of a territory. They can only be opened with a certain phrase.” She responds, eyes twinkling as her hands gesture to him. 

“Why were they created? What are they used for? Why are they called dom vidjma? Why-” He trips over his own words. Being brought here was amazing. So many things to learn. 

“They were made to act as points of reference for ambassadors or travellers. Magicfolk could trust that if they need a place to stay while on the road they could find the nearest dom wiedźma.” She looks away from him, remembering her own adventures back when she was a traveller herself. 

“So the dom vidjma-” He says, anxious for more answers. 

“Dom wiedźma.” She corrects. 

“Dom wiedźma?”

She nods happily. “There it is.”

“So the dom vidjma-” He starts once more, only to be cut off with a huff of air. 

“No.” She frowns. “You know polish. Now speak it.”

“No I don't.” He frowns back at her once more. He has been learning polish for only three months, and only through magic spells, so he isn’t near fluent enough at the accent for casual speech. Before he only used beginner spells, but as he moves to advanced, he needs to use higher level magic, which means more specific magic, which means polish magic. 

She smiles. “Yes, you do. A trait of magicfolk is to already know their home language.”

He sighs. They’ve had this argument (if it can even be called that) before. “Anyway,” she frowned in displeasure at his dismissal, “how were they made?” 

She takes the bait knowingly. “It was courtesy in the olden days to make them, and they survived this long for many reasons. The bigger the magic the harder it is to destroy, of course. They served as homes for travellers, as I said before, as well as storage for magic items. That use, however, is fairly recent. When magic became a secret it was a safe place to store magic items without fear of them being found, since only magic can open them. And they are also used as places to be granted permission to visit territories and audiences with alphas.” She lectures him. 

Before, he would have interrupted her, but time here has accustomed him to longer speeches. He has learned to sit still(ish), but only if they truly interest him. 

“Nowadays, few dom wiedźma are still around, but very rarely opened. In fact, some might not have been opened for upwards of half a century!” She says the end while waving her hands enthusiastically. He smiles. His nauczyciel is awesome. 

\-----

This dom wiedźma is obviously down on maintenance. Regardless, it's is tied to the earth, so the current magicfolk in charge must have felt him entering. As he thinks this, a small mirror in the corner begins to flash with a call for conversation. He smiles. Apparently they do know what the witch’s home is. 

He wonders over, glancing at the bookshelves as he passes. He can't tell a bunch from just the spines, but they seem to be rather niche topics, and still in fairly good condition. Maybe they’ll be interested in selling them to him. He knows Piper would always love some more books. 

Eventually he reaches the mirror. He waves across the front while chanting “Fac mihi inde (show me the other side).”

The mirror goes foggy, then clears up. It reveals an older black man, with a shaved head and a square jaw. He appears to be in a room with a metal table and medical equipment. Perhaps a doctor of some kind? But that table looks weird… The man looks briefly surprised, but he covers it up quickly. “Hello. Who is this?”

The man in the dom wiedźma frowns. English? That is common, but to address another magicfolk for the first time in English is considered rude. “Jestem mistrzem iskier, Absolwenci wszystkich ośmiu kursów wysokich. (I am a master of spark, alumni of all eight high courses.)” He says the familiar words, long since trained to roll of the tongue perfectly whenever needed. His introduction shows his knowledge, to flaw it is to flaw himself. 

The other man looks startled once more, and the polish man wonders how long it’s been since he’s gotten a formal introduction. How long it’s been since he met another high level magicfolk. He quickly gets a response. “Is mise an t-àrd-draoidheachd na beacon beanntan. Dè a tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo? (I am the high magic of beacon hills. What are you doing here?)”

Scottish Gaelic. One of the base languages, but a fair enough introduction. He isn’t giving off the most trained example, but he must be powerful to be the high magic, or emissary, of this town. “Àrd Magic, I, maighstir sradag, iarraidh gu foirmeil a leudachadh cead fuireach ann an sgìre agad de Beacon Hills. (High Magic, I, master of spark, formally request extended permission to stay in your territory of Beacon Hills.)”

He expects it this time. “A mhaighistir, carson a bu chòir dhomh gabhail ris an iarrtas agaibh? (Master, why should I accept your request?)”

“Rugadh mi agus thogadh e ann 'ur tìr. A dh'fhàg mi airson ionnsachadh draoidheachd agus air tilleadh. Bithidh mi a 'fàgail a-rithist ann an còig mìosan a thomhas. (I was born and raised in your territory. I left to study magic and have returned. I shall leave again in an estimated five months.)”

He nods, seeming to accept his reasoning. . “Tha mi a 'gabhail ris an iarrtas agaibh. faodaidh tu fuireach ann cho fada 'sa thogras tu. I, ge-tà, tha iarrtas ann an tilleadh. (I accept your request. you may stay as long as you wish. I, however, have a request in return.)”

The man in the room nods in return. He is grateful for him accepting. He wonders what he would have done if he had been stuck here without permission to return to his father’s side. With a smile he says “Rud sam bith. (Anything).” 

“Thig a 'coinneachadh rium ann an neach. Tha mi ag iarraidh thu a 'coinneachadh ri phasgan. Cuideachd ag innse dhomh cò a tha thu. (Please come meet me in person. I want you to meet the pack. Also to tell me who you are.)”

He smiles once more, but this time there is the smallest edge. “Tha. (Yes.)”

“Tha sibh eòlach air an t-slighe chun lighiche-sprèidh oifis? (Do you know the way to the vet's office?)” The man on the other side says quickly. “Faodaidh tu a 'tighinn ann an dà uair a thìde? (Can you come in two hours?)”

The brunet nods as the only response. Two hours is just enough time to bring his stuff to the hotel he reserved. A dom wiedźma may be a good place to contact emissaries, but they have long since run through their usefulness as places to live. He glances at the dust once more. Yeah. He's not sleeping here anytime soon. 

The first question has a yes answer too. Of course it does. 

His best friend worked there once. 

His ex-best friend (left him) (betrayed him) (lied to him) (ignored him) (left him) worked there once.


	2. while I pondered weak and weary

The vet’s office is mostly dark. The porch lights are off, and nothing at the front of the building is bright. Only the furthest window is lit, but the curtains are drawn. An ancient blue jeep is in a front parking space. The headlights are on, lighting up the side of the building. The door opens with a click, and the lights shut off. A boot hits the concrete, and the man stands up, sliding out of the jeep. He shuts the door lightly, lovingly patting the jeep. Looking at the door to the vet he flips his hood over his head once more, shadows happy to conceal him once more. He turns and walks to the vet’s office. 

He climbs the steps to the door and knocks. It takes a moment, but the black man from the mirror opens the door. “Fàilte. (Welcome.)”

He nods in return. “Hello.” While they are newly introduced, the hooded man believes the other is inexperienced with formal magic speech. He was raised here, and he has never been one for formality. Scarlet tried to get him to appreciate etiquette and technique, but that has always been more her thing. So he switched to English. 

The other man recognizes this (thankfully) and switches back as well. “I am the emissary of Beacon Hills. Why are you here?” He still speaks rather formally, but he relaxes his shoulders, opening the door a bit wider. 

“That is a rather long story. May I come in?” 

He gestures back, waving a hand inside. He steps away from the door, and the hooded man follows. They enter the waiting room, and he remembers waiting here for the end of Scott’s shift. He pauses for a moment, looking at the magazines where he would look for hot girls. He smirked to himself. Oh, past self, you know nothing about yourself. He wonders where they are going, and the owner leads them through a door marked ‘Employees Only’ to a hallway. Through another door is an office. 

The walls are covered with floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with books. They labels appear to be normal vet books, but the pole can tell that they probably aren’t all they seem to be. There are two windows, one on the right wall and another in the back. He guesses again that the right window is the one he could see light coming out of from his car. The walls, where they aren’t obscured by bookshelves, are a pale gray, and the floor is hardwood. He taps his foot on the ground. It appears to be plain oak. He is almost disappointed. 

In the center of the room is a large wooden desk, covered with a computer, several papers, a jar of pens, and a few books. Behind the desk is a large swivel chair. The black man sits at the chair behind the desk and the man in the hood sits in one of the chairs on the other side. He shifts slightly. It’s wooden, and rather uncomfortable. 

“My name is Alan Deaton. I am the town’s vet.” He says this matter of fact and business-like. The polish man recognizes him slightly from back then, but he never knew he was an emissary. But, then again, he didn’t know about magic at all, so that isn’t really saying much. 

The other nods back at him and says “I’m Stiles Stilinski. I am-”

Deaton reacts like someone just ran in completely naked, eyes widening, and interrupts him before he can say anything more. “Stiles!” He flinches back. “What are you doing here? When did you get-” he stops. Stiles, having tensed when Deaton exploded at him, glances slightly at the door. Deaton exhales. “I’m sorry. I just remember you as a boy. You told me you were from here. Please continue.” He looks apologetic. 

Stiles shifts awkwardly. “I am a Master of Spark, and an alumni of all eight high courses. I have a Bachelor’s degree in 

Stiles still feels uncomfortable, but relinquishes. “I’m a spark. My abilities manifested halfway through my Senior year of high school. When I graduated I was approached with a scholarship to Spark Alley University. I went there for four years, then an additional two years to take the high courses.”

Deaton, still looking surprised and a little lost, says “Why did they approach you?”

Stiles smiles. “What do you know about Spark Alley?” He asks, still wondering about Deaton and his level of knowledge. Where did he go to school?

“I believe it is one of the highest level magic schools in the country. It’s prestigious and notoriously hard to get into. Scholarships there are very rare. How did you manage to catch their attention?” 

Stiles smiles. “I had a high magic aptitude.” He decides not to mention how he also got a four year scholarship.

Deaton nods, then asks, “How did you find out about Spark Alley?”

\---------

Stiles collapses in his bed. Every nerve hurts, every muscle pulled to its breaking point. He is so tired. If he wanted to, he could just… drift… off…

“Stiles!” 

He jerks up. “I’m awake!” He calls out in reflex. He begins getting out of bed.

“There’s a college letter here for you!” His dad calls back, voice echoing from downstairs.

Stiles instinctively thinks of Scott. Then he shakes his head violently. No. Scott hasn’t even talked to him in months, there is no way they are still planning to go to college near each other. He ignores the bit of guilt curling in his stomach at the thought. He grabs clothes from his floor and rushes downstairs. He slips his shirt over his head right as he steps into the living room, where his father is standing, holding out a white envelope. 

Stiles walks over, narrowly avoiding the sofa on his way over. He takes the envelope and looks at it briefly. Spark Alley. A hint of confusion runs through his brain, but he ignores it for now. He walks to the kitchen and grabs himself some milk. He sits down at the table, rolling his shoulders and opening the envelope. There have been a couple college letters coming to his house recently, so he isn’t super excited about them. Part of him, though, would feel guilty if he didn’t take a peek at them. He takes out two pieces of paper. He puts down his milk, looking at the papers. He doesn’t normally get this kind of thing. 

He starts to unfold them, but before he does he sees a weird set of lines written on the back in what seems to be black sharpie. 

Stiles stares at them, trying to figure out what they mean. He thinks he recognizes them , but doesn’t remember where they're from, or what they mean. He turns to call to his dad. “Hey dad?” He calls.

His father comes in, looking at his son. He stops by the door, then asks “Yes?”

Stiles waves the papers at him, the lines facing him. The sheriff walks over and takes them out of his hand, staring at them intently. Then he shrugs. “I have no idea.” He hands it back to his son. “Anyway, I got to go to work. You have school in half an hour. Don’t be late.” He turns bacvk to the door, grabbing his jacket that was draped over the back of a chair. 

Stiles turns back to the paper, still looking at the lines, as his dad opens the front door. “Bye Dad! Love you.”

His dad turns at him once more, smiling. “Love you too, son.” He steps outside, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Stiles gives up on the runes. He commits them to memory, promising to look them up later. 

He unfolds the papers. The first thing he sees is his name. Not Stiles, but Mieczysław Stilinski. He is a little surprised, but not much. Most colleges just use whatever name they found on his email, which was Stiles, but some still find (and then use) Mieczysław. His eyes look at the college name, written at the top of the paper. Spark Alley University. Still not recognizing it, he reads the blurb under his name. He starts, blinking as he tries to make sense of it. What in the-

The paper doesn’t make much sense. Magic? He knows it exists, knows he has it, but the idea of a place to study it? It seems ridiculous. He dismisses it a some wierd joke letter.

Then he processes another reason the top was shocking. He decides whoever wrote it was bonkers. He refolds it and puts it on the table. He finishes his milk and stands up to get ready. Then he sees the envelope again. He hesitates. What if it wasn’t a hoax?

He makes his decision. In one smooth motion he sits back down and pulls the letter back towards him.

SPARK ALLEY UNIVERSITY

Headmaster: Jacob Diaz and Melinda Moreau

Dear Mr. Mieczysław Stilinski,

We at Spark Alley are please to inform you that you have been admitted to Spark Alley University. We invite you to join us as a Freshmen at the famous University of Magic. Spark Alley University is a very elite private university located in Sradag Island, off the coast of Michigan in Lake Huron. Spark Alley University is a very prestigious school. More than 10,000 candidates are considered, but only 100 are accepted each year. You have also gotten a full scholarship, which is only given to ten of these students. Your magical aptitude has made you one of these people. Other traits that have gotten you accepted include your determination and intelligence. This selective process has chosen you to attend. You should take pride in this true accomplishment!  
Your have also been guaranteed a full scholarship, which means if you choose to attend all your expenses will be paid for your first four years. Your response must be submitted through the misit system by May 1 this year. It is your responsibility to read the enclosed Final Requirements sheet. You have also been invited to attend a additional freshmen orientation called Beginner’s Luck, which is only accessible to non-magicborns. If you do not know of your true magic you may attend. You may arrive at the university August 1, and attend magic basics for a short time before September 1, when all other students and the remaining faculty members will arrive.  
Spark Alley University is one of the world’s most unique academic opportunities. While many magical schools exist in America, only Spark Alley offers all eight of the high programs, as well as courses for mastery in many other branches of study. We offer beginner classes in many subjects, and have some of the greatest magicfolk in the world as our staff. Sapark Alley will not only guarantee you a degree in magic that will carry you for as long as you wish, it will also connect you with other magicfolk. Magicfolk are getting few and far between, but at Spark Alley everyone is a member of this special community. You can meet and connect with people from all cultures and learn so much. We hope to hear from you soon.

Jacob Diaz Melinda Moreau

Jacob Diaz and Melinda Moreau  
Headmasters of Spark Alley University

He sits there for a minute. Then a thought hits him.

“What the fuck!?!”

\-------

“I got a letter of admission from a strange college I hadn’t applied to or even heard of. I know a little of what I did, but I don’t know completely how I got myself on their radar.” He paraphrases what had been running through his mind.

“Ahh…” Deaton says, nodding at Stiles’ explanation. “So, how much magic did you know when you left?”  
Stiles blushes, cursing his skin. He looks at Deaton, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t know any, actually. I knew enough to make a glass of water tip over. That was about it.”

Deaton chokes a little, before recovering. “You didn’t know anything?”

“If I got angry enough stuff would happen without me thinking about it.” Stiles responded. He knew he barely knew any, but 

Then he seems to come to a realization, furrowing his brow and looking uncomfortable. “There is something you should know about the territory here before you meet the pack”

Stiles tilts his head, looking at the other in confusion. “What?”

Deaton shifts his weight,

“I remember you from before, so I ask you to do me a favor.

“Years ago, the pack here was killed. The alpha power was shuffled through the survivors, before ending up with the alpha’s only surviving son. While that was a couple of years ago, he is still rather inexperienced with supernatural diplomacy.” 

Stiles understand this quite well. A normal alpha-in-training would be chosen while they were rather young, and train for years before inheriting the power. Inexperienced alphas aren’t uncommon, but they tend to have elders supporting them. But it appears Deaton is not done.

“Because of this, I tend to handle all the events in that department. You, however, are one of the first magicfolk to ask permission to stay here in awhile. You will need to meet with him. He does not have the most tact, so he may offend you. I remember you from before, so I ask you to do me a favor .Please hold back from offense. He doesn’t mean it.” Deaton looks quite uncomfortable asking this of him, and Stiles knows why. 

There are traditions you follow when meeting alphas and guests, which include rituals and certain greetings. Even Stiles, well versed in this as he is, doesn’t know the way to greet everyone he could meet in his travels. Things would be different if Stiles was born into magic and lived his whole life surrounded by traditional magic. He would probably have take offense just from being asked not to take offense. 

Good thing he wasn’t. 

He laughs, startling Deaton. “No problem at all!” His laughter trickles out and he looks at Deaton. “I hate those stuffy rituals. I get their importance, but sometimes they’re pretty overexaggerated. I would be fine with a casual meet up.”

Deaton exhales in relief, then says “Thank you!”

Stiles smiles charmingly. “No problem!”

Deaton tenses again. “So, you didn’t know anything about magical creatures when you left?”

Stiles, confused, responds “Yes…”

“And that was for college, right after your senior year?”

“Yes. Why?”

Deaton tenses even more, if that was even possible. Stiles feels himself getting a little tense in response. “There’s another thing you should know before you meet the werewolf pack here.”

“What?”

He looks around a little desperately. “There is a chance you knew some werewolves and didn’t know it.”

Stiles relaxes instantly. “I’ve long since come to terms with the fact that some people I knew might not be all they appear to be. I wasn’t really that close to anyone here anyway.”

Deaton does not look very comforted by his words. “There is one other in the pack you might need to know about. We have a true alpha in our midst.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows in equal parts surprise and doubt. “Really? Those aren’t exactly common.” He is a little concerned about this turn of events. He didn’t know about any of this drama when he lived here. But then again, he didn’t even know there werewolves when he left, so maybe Beacon Hills really has always been this fucked up. 

Deaton swallows. “You should meet the pack.” He says, steeling himself.

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “When and where?”

“Come here again. In two hours again?”

\--------

Stiles grabs his bag, throwing the strap over his shoulder. He checks his paper. 205. That is his room number. It’s his first day of college, and he needs to put his stuff somewhere. The Beginner’s Luck orientation isn’t until tomorrow, but he was planning on dropping off his stuff and heading out to explore. He looks at the building in front of him. 

There was a curving stone pathway through a manicured lawn that led to a pair of glass doors that go inside. The building itself was also made entirely of stone, and had long columns that held up a roof that covered the entryway. The dorms were a bit taller than Stiles is used to, about five stories high, and wide. 

He starts along the path. He’s carrying two bags. One has wheels and the other, as mentioned, is still over his shoulder. He figures that his room is on the second floor, and he hopes that it is fairly easy to get to. He’s starting to get tired. 

He reaches the doors, and they open automatically at his presence. He walks through, not noticing they don’t have sensors. He continues without stopping, looking around at the entrance hall. The walls are light brown and the ceiling is white where chills high above him. He walks inside, and is instantly greeted by a tall blonde woman with dark eyes and fair skin. “Hello!” She says to him. Stiles looks up at her, which he does not normally have to do with females. He is around six feet tall so she is very tall. He glances down really quickly. She’s wearing flats. 

“Um… Hello?” He says to her. She is very pretty. The tall thing is actually kinda hot. Her hair reminds him of Erica, who was a girl who he sometimes partnered with in classes at his old high school. His old high school. The novelty of saying (thinking) that still hasn't worn off. 

“My name is Scarlett Thomas. Are you another, oh, what did they call it-magicfolk!” She has a slight french accent. You can tell she has it, but she still speaks english very well. She also looks very excited. Stiles can tell where she’s coming from. In his entire life he had never met a single other person who could do what he could do. Since she’s here today, she must be here for Beginner’s Luck too. 

Stiles smiles, a bit of his hyperactivity sneaking in. “I am! I’m Stiles Stilinski.” He holds out his free hand to shake and she grabs it eagerly.

She exhales sharply while shutting her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry. I normally have more self control than that. I am from France. I discovered my magic two years ago. You?”

A little taken aback by her sudden calm Stiles replies. “I’m from California. Are most of the people here foreign?”

“I don’t know.” She says. “I hope I’m not the only one.” She looks him in the eye. “Where is your room?”

He looks at his paper once more. “I’m in Room 205. You?”

She looks at him in shock. “I have Room 206.” Then she smiles again. “We’re neightbors!”

He smiles. This girl seems cool. Maybe they could be friends. “Awesome!”

He adjusts the stuff on his arm. They start walking towards the elevators, talking about their disasters of magic. Again, Stiles misses that they don’t press a button as the doors slide smoothly open in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it! Tomorrow I have off so I hope to get some more work on the next chapter done. Warning though, I have really infrequent free time and inspiration, so the chapters might come out pretty slow. If you are reading this when it's finished, yay! I finished it!


	3. over many a quaint and curious

Scott looks up at the building. He is at the vet's office and ready to talk to Dr. Deaton. He glances behind him at the people he has brought with him. Derek is the other alpha, so he was called by Deaton as well, and they decided to bring Isaac, Lydia, and Allison. They had learned from experience that too many people just led to too many questions. They five of them tended to handle most problems. Actually, it was more like Lydia and Allison handled most problems, then gave the other pack members jobs to do so nothing went to shit. Sometimes Scott wondered where they would be without them. Probably dead.

Anyways, they were on their way to talk to Deaton. He had called Scott about half an hour ago, explaining that someone had come into town. He said they were a very powerful magic user, so they should try not to piss him off so much. Scott was a little confused about that. He didn't know much about etiquette, but he still didn’t even think think they were doing that badly. But he’s smart enough to hear Deaton out, and they all gathered at the clinic for a briefing on who exactly this was.

Scott gets to the door first. He steps inside, ignoring the closed sign hanging in the window. He hands the door to Lydia, who’s following him, and continues through doors to the main room, where most information is given. Deaton is waiting there, looking more distressed than usual. Scott hears everyone else’s heart jump for a second at how he looks. His fists are clenched, and he looks very different from the slightly arrogant and very shady person he normally acts like.

“Hello.” He greets them. 

“Hey Dr. Deaton,” Scott replies. “You wanted us to meet with you?”

“Yes,” he turns from them, picking up a sheet of paper from a table. “I’m assuming you all know why I asked you here.”

Scott speaks first, talking while the people around him nod. “Someone’s in town, and you want us to talk with him. So, why is someone suddenly coming into Beacon Hills? And why did they tell you about it?” 

“This person lived in Beacon Hills once,” he says, not answering the question directly. “The reason I’m telling you is because people in your pack might know him.”

“Can we trust him?” Lydia demands. 

He nods in response. “I knew him well enough to say he won’t betray you.” 

Check Deaton’s pulse, Scott knows he isn’t lying. “So someone’s back in town, and their supernatural.” Allison states, “and how do you know them?”

“They came to this clinic several times, and every time we spoke he seemed like a very trustworthy person.” Deaton says, but Scott notices that he still isn’t telling them who it is.

“How do we know they aren’t dangerous?” Isaac asks. “And how do you know they’re here?” He looks a little anxious, biting his lip and shifting his weight.

Deaton shifts slightly. “Don’t jump to conclusion when I say this, but they are extremely dangerous.” He quickly continues before anyone tries to interrupt him. “I just think he won’t hurt us. He seems reasonable, but he can get upset, which is why I asked you to mind your manners when you met him.”

“So he’s powerful?” Scott asks. 

“Very.”

“I can’t help but notice that you still haven’t told us who this person is, or even what they are.” Lydia interjects. 

Deaton bites his lip, heart rate jumping just a tad. Scott glances at Derek and Isaac. They both nod at him. They heard it too. Derek raises an eyebrow at the veterinarian. Deaton quickly responds with “They left Beacon Hills around six and a half years ago, and only returned today. We are a high-werewolf territory, so they wanted to meet with the alpha of the area. I told them to return here in two hours.” Glancing at his watch he adds, “around one hour now.”

“How do you know he’s in town?” Derek says, contributing verbally for the first time since they entered the clinic. 

“He contacted me when he arrived through a spell that is cast around the area.” Deaton responds, handing the papers he grabbed from the table to Lydia. She looks them over, eyes slowly widening as she takes in what’s written.

“A spell on the area?” Allison asks. “I’ve never heard to such a thing. And why wouldn’t it have activated when others entered, like Deucalion or Gerald?” Scott finds himself agreeing with her. 

Deaton looks at her. “It is only activated if they enter a specific area. It’s an ancient form of magic, and the spell was already in place when I became emissary. I forgot it even existed.”

“Then how did he know about it?” Isaac asks.

“It probably has something to do with this.” Lydia says, waving the papers Deaton had handed to her at the others. Herr voice is a bit shaky in its uncertainty, like everything just changed. “A magic school.” 

The papers read Spark Alley University, and below them is a picture of a large building with a giant spiral of golden light floating above it. 

Everyone stares at it for a moment, then turns to Deaton in question. Allison is the first to speak. “What the hell is that?” 

“Like Miss Martin said,” Deaton explains. “It is a magic school. Spark Alley University is where many magicfolk gather to train their magic. It is one of the most prestigious schools in the entire country.”

Scott tilts his head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s magic.” Deaton replies. “And it is where this person trained. They are very powerful. Do not underestimate them.”

Allison narrows her eyes. “I still don’t think we can trust them.”

Scott turns to her. “We don’t know that they’re evil. Besides, Dr. Deaton says he knew him before. So he must be trustworthy!” He exclaims. This mysterious person talked to Deaton willingly, so they have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Allison still looks suspicious. “I don’t know.” She says hesitantly. “You still hasn’t told us who he is.” She turns to Deaton.

“You have to understand,” he says quickly. “I had my suspicions about them myself when they arrived. When they lived here before I thought they might not be completely human, but I never followed up.”

“How did you not know he was supernatural?”

“He wasn’t born a supernatural creature. Well, technically he was, but he didn’t find out about this until later on in life. He is a spark.” Deaton explains. “After talking with him today, I found out he came into his powers in his Senior year. Which, as I said earlier, was very close to the Senior years of a lot of your pack.” Scott looks at him in surprise. This stranger is around his age? Maybe he did know him. “Anyways, he should be-”

Derek cuts him off. “Someone’s coming.”

Isaac and Scott listen for a minute. “Yeah, someone’s driving up from town.” Isaac reports. 

The three who couldn’t hear look a little confused. “Oh no,” Deaton says suddenly. “He must be coming earlier than I expected.” He grabs the papers from Lydia and puts them back on the table, hidden under normal vet forms. “He wasn’t supposed to arrive for another,” he checks his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

Scott frowns. For some reason, that sounds really familiar. The engine of the car sounds like he should know what it is. But he just can’t place it...  
“Wait!” Cries Lydia. “I had so many questions!”

Deaton whips around to face them once more. “I shall be here for the meeting. I’m sure he would be willing to answer some of your questions.” He rushes past them to the door, and waits in front of it, clenching and unclenching his hands, heart beating quickly. Scott doesn’t think he’s ever seen the normally cool and collected man this anxious. Scott starts to get a little worried himself. What (who) could possibly be powerful and dangerous enough for Deaton to be this nervous? He didn’t act like this when they were fighting the kanima, the nogitsune, or even the alpha pack. 

The car stops, and the loss of noise shakes Scott out of his thoughts. He tries to step protectively in front of his pack, but they all step out to stand next to him. He feels a burst of affection for his packmates. Everyone looks towards the door. Scott hears a rustle of clothing and looks to Allison, who’s hand is lightly resting on the dagger she has by her waist. The other werewolves are only slightly shifted, with partial claws and fangs, their eyes not quite flashing colors yet. Even Lydia, who would actually kill him for calling her defenseless, is in fighting form, her arms raised, fists clenched, and eyes focused. 

They listen in silence as footsteps fall outside the door. Then, three sharp knocks echo through the room. Deaton calls tensely, “Come in.”

There is a half second pause before the front door opens with a click. Everyone looks at the newcomer. He’s wearing a red hoodie and black jeans, and is holding a small bag. He is taller than everyone but Isaac and has light skin and dark hair. Scott looks at him for a minute, then jumps back in surprise. “Oh my god.”

The stranger looks at him. Scott can see his eyes process for a moment, and then they light up with recognition. “Scott!”

Allison looks at her alpha. “How do you know him?” She demands.

Scott swallows and he can hear how everyone’s heart starts beating even faster in response to the tension the room is filling up with. “That’s-” he tries. Unable to finish, he swallows once more and tried again. “That’s Stiles Stilinski.”

\--------------------

Stiles walks away from the lunch line, holding his food in front of him. Soon enough, he arrives at the table he normally sits at with Scott. But something’s different today. There are way more people sitting there then usual. 

Sitting with Scott are people that Stiles had barely talked to before, and didn’t even know Scott knew. Scott is in the middle, and across from him is Danny Mahealani. Danny was someone Stiles had literally talked to three times. With Danny is Jackson and Lydia. What the fuck were they doing here? Lydia looks gorgeous as always, but why is she here. God knows she had never talked to either of them before. And Jackson was a dick! Why was he talking with them?

Erica and Boyd, two people who he was personally terrified of, especially since their abrupt personality change three months ago, are sitting across from each other. They are on the far side of the table from where Stiles was standing, on the other sides of Isaac and Lydia respectively. 

Scott himself is sandwiched between Allison Argent, who he had had a crush on since she got here four months ago, but had never had a meaningful conversation with, and Isaac Lahey, someone who neither Scott nor Stiles had ever had a reason to talk to. Scott is talking with Lahey about something or other, and apparently didn’t care that Stiles is looking at them in confusion. 

Looking at the table once more, Stiles notices yet another pressing issue. With six people sitting at this table, there is no place for him. He blinks in confusion and surprise, then says. “Hey, Scott! I know you probably haven’t realized, but a bunch of strangers have taken over our table and I have nowhere to sit. Do you want to skip this and-”

“Sorry dude.” Scott interrupts him, the faintest traces of regret in his eyes. “I’m talking with Isaac. I guess the table’s full.” He shrugs and turns back to his conversation. 

“Scott-” He tries again, uncomfortable.

“Stiles, I’m talking to someone. Can’t you find somewhere else to sit?” He looks annoyed, but Stiles can still see the regret. “Seriously, I’m busy.”

Stiles steps back in surprise at the abrupt dismissal. “Excuse me?”

But Scott’s already talking to Isaac again. Something about going to the forest tonight. Stiles bristles in rage. Scott is ignoring him for some kid. He tries to say something again, but Jackson turns to him. “Hey loser. Get lost. No one wants you here.” He says, and Stiles can tell that he really is angry at him. 

Stiles steps back, biting his lip in anger, and turns around abruptly. He storms away from the table, and out of the lunchroom. Guess he’s eating in the library today. 

\-----

Scott watches in agony as his best friend storms away from him in anger. “I still don’t understand why I had to do that.” He says quietly. 

Allison looks at him sadly. “You remember what Deaton said. You can’t tell anyone, and not knowing anything is going to get him killed.”

“She’s right.” Lydia adds, throwing her red (‘it’s strawberry blonde, Scott!’) hair behind her shoulder. “Either you tell him everything and he dies in a fight he wasn’t strong enough for, or you don’t tell him anything and he dies in a fight he didn’t even know was happening. Or, you separate yourself from that loser and he’s fine.” She gives him a sympathetic look, and while she has become less of a bitch to him recently, it still looks a little fake. 

Isaac nods in agreement. “Besides, now you have us as your pack.” 

Everyone smiles at Scott and he smiles back, but part of him still hurts. He still remembers when he had asthma in first grade, and everyone had made fun of him, and Stiles had threatened to punch everyone in their class for it. He remembers being so happy he had someone like that in his life to protect him. But he also remembers feeling so guilty for the timeouts Stiles had received for it.

He remembers in third and fourth grade, when Stiles was still grieving for his mother. He was so angry that he hadn’t threatened to throw punches, but really did. He remembers when Stiles had broke Jackson’s nose for stealing Scott inhaler, and then laughed (only slightly crazed) about it all through his suspension. He remember feeling so guilty for that too. For needing Stiles to come to his rescue. For not being able to defend himself.

But now things were different now. Scott could protect himself, and anyone else he wanted to. He was a werewolf and could fight anything that stood in his way, and win! Stiles no longer had to put himself in harm's way for Scott. He needed to show his best friend that he could handle himself. 

Scott had made his decision a week ago to hang out with his pack more, and show Stiles that he didn’t need a protector or a buffer anymore. And when he has this werewolf thing down, they can go back to being best friends. He smiles to himself. Yeah! Everything is going to be just fine. Stiles is his best friend, it’s just that they just can’t be as close as they once were. He’s not going to completely lose him. Right?

\-----

Lydia sees the tension rolling off what they all had thought was a stranger. But it isn’t. This all-powerful creature who even Deaton is scared of is actually Stilinski, from all those years ago. She remembers him very, very faintly, and only as one of Scott’s pre-werewolf friends. He also had a weird obsession with her, if she’s remembering right. 

He looks very different than how she remembers him. He is taller and looks less like a stick in baggy clothing. His hair is much longer, and seems to either be styled or naturally pushed up. His hoodie disguises his upper body, but the black jeans are tight and provide her with a great view of his legs, and she (accurately) guesses that they also provide a great view of his ass. He also holds himself with confidence, which is something he once severely lacked. He is standing up straight, and his posture looks completely natural. There is something about him that she can't put her hands on. Some foreign energy he’s giving off that she can’t sense completely. 

“What are you doing here?” Scott says suddenly, disturbing the eerie silence that had fallen over the clinic. He looks almost angry, but through the pack bond she can tell he’s scared and confused. 

“The question is what are you doing here, Scotty.” Stiles replies, rising an eyebrow. 

Scott recovers himself slightly. “I am the alpha of Beacon Hills. Who are you?”

“Alpha, huh? That sure is a step up. And who are the lovely people around you? Lydia Martin, I haven’t seen your gorgeous face in a while.” He smiles at her, and for some strange reason she finds herself blushing minutely. It must be too hot in here.

“I said who are you?” Scott says again, voice tight.

“You should know this. I’m Stiles Stilinski, Master of Spark.” He replies, crossing his arms. 

“No, you’re not.” Scott almost snarls at him. Lydia begins to worry about Scott. She remembers them being close, but it appears they were even closer than she thought. “I don’t know who you are, but Stiles wasn’t supernatural.”

Stiles is still smiling, but Lydia can see a muscle twitch in his jaw. As she notices, his smiles grows just a bit more cruel. “And you think I would’ve told you, just as you told me about your apparent wolfy powers?” Scott growls at that, and tensions get even higher. 

Suddenly, what Lydia would have thought of the least likely person to interrupt interrupts. “What are you here for?” Derek questions. Stiles looks away from Scott, and Lydia finds herself thanking the gods that the combined powers of their pack was enough to teach the loner werewolf some basic social rules. As the other alpha, Derek had enough guts to interrupt Scott.

Stiles makes eye contact with Derek, and Lydia watches as his smile turns into a smirk. “I am representing Spark Alley University. I am here to create trade between Sradag Island and Beacon Hills. We shall provide magical items and protection, and we ask in return to take power from your magical wellspring.”

Everyone is taken aback for a moment, so Lydia herself speaks next. “Magical wellspring? What are you talking about?”

He smiles at her, then looks at everyone else. “The Nemeton, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so there's Stiles' reason for being there. If you're confused it's kind of the point, but feel free to comment with any questions. I can either A) explain, B) tell you you're supposed to be confused, or C) fix it. 
> 
> Thank you to every single person that commented, I love you so much! I have decided that yes, Sterek will be a thing, and so will a couple other common ships that will be tagged when they become a thing. Also, this didn't have much about SAU but I promise next chapter will kind of be an info dump. Did you like the part from Lydia's perspective? Any characters you want to see out the yes of? Any ships you really want? Feel free to comment. 
> 
> And, as usual for fanfic, if you see a grammar or spelling mistake, or a canon or fanon mistake, feel free to say something. Thank you so much for reading!!


	4. volume of forgotten lore

It is freshmen orientation (also known as Beginner’s Luck) at Spark Alley University, and the room is full of untapped and untested yet still unrestrained magical ability. Sparks, which were rare but powerful; witches, which were fairly common but gifted in complex spell work; and everything in between. The room itself is a college lecture hall, easily seating up to a hundred kids. There are only around sixty in the room right then, however. One hundred kids are going to the school in one month but right now only the non-magicborns are here. That means they were over half, which was in and of itself rather strange. Normally it was only about thirty kids each year. 

“Hello everyone!” A voice calls out, and the whispers from the students die down. “Welcome to Spark Alley University.” A woman steps out of the hallway and in front of the students. She is medium in both height and build, and has long brown hair. She looks Native American, with darker skin and pretty brown eyes. She is wearing a blue dress that hangs off her shoulders and and breasts, then wraps around her waist, before twisting artfully down her thighs, cutting off an inch or two above her knees. She looks to be about late-twenties, and is very pretty. She walks to the podium, flashes of light dancing out of her hair and sparking around her before fading. 

Everyone watches with bated breath. She was clearly comfortable, and none of them had ever seen such casual magic. She poses her fingers, then throws them above her head, sending mini fireworks up to the ceiling. The room erupts in whispers once more. She smiles to herself, remembering when she was one of them. It was why she did the more difficult and extensive Beginner’s Luck course, and not the normal orientation. 

“My name is Mitena Williams, and you may call me Miss Williams. I will be your translator. What does that mean? It means I am in charge of making sure every one of you knows what’s going on, whether it be in class, with yourself, or in the magic world outside.” She smiles, gesturing along with her words. “Magic is very complex and I shall attempt to turn everything you can hear into things that you can understand.”

The room is quiet, but that is normal so she continues to speak. “Let’s start with what magic is, shall we? Magic is energy that our minds and bodies can turn into other energies, that can then do other things that we ourselves could not normally do.” She demonstrates by twisting the light in front of her into a copy of herself, that waves at the students and then vanishes. “I am an illusionist. That means my major when I went here was Illusions. I can create illusions of all kinds.”

“Now, you all out there are not all the same as me. We have several different types of magicfolk here this year. Sparks, witches, druids, and fae-borns all walk the halls here at SAU, as well as many other rare creatures. Sometimes your race or species might give you an advantage or a disadvantage in certain areas of magic.” She says, leaving her podium and walking across the front of the room. 

“However, there is a lot to the community and culture of magic. There are many majors and minors here at SAU. So, for ease, we have organized them into four groups. These groups are Types of Magic Spell-casting, Types of Magic Results, The Study Behind Magic, and Bases For Magic. Each groups has many branches, and, within that, many classes and subjects. Illusion,” She demonstrates once more, “is a Magic Results branch.” 

“The good news for you is, we don’t expect- scratch that, we don't allow non-magicborns to officially choose a major or minor until Tribruma year. What does that mean? This university works on a six year program. Your first year is Freshman, second is Sophomore, third is Tribruma, followed by Quabruma, then Junior, and then finally, you’re a Senior.” Everyone in the crowd looks extremely confused. “Don’t worry!” Miss Williams says again. “This will be told to you many times.”

“Also,” she says, turning to the door, “magic is too complicated for me to explain. So,” Miss Williams looks at her wrist, where a plain watch is wrapped. “It’s now time for more advanced orientations! Time to be sorted into groups.” A paper airplane flies through the air, and she catches it. “If you remember the name that was printed on your letter under adviser, stay where you are. If you have forgotten, come see me.” She winks at the crowd, and walks out the door. After a moment, the freshmen start following her. 

\-----

“You want to make a deal with us?” Allison says. “To take power from the Nemeton?”

Stiles nods. “Yes. SAU is interested in gathering power from the Nemeton to strengthen several areas around the world. It wouldn’t just be at SAU.” He looks at the other alpha. He can’t bear to look at Scott right now. He was a werewolf? Wait, he’s talking.

“No.” the frowning guy says. “We have no interest. Thank you and goodbye.”

Stiles’s eyes widen and inhales quickly. He expected the courtesy to at least say what he meant to trade. “Well that was fast. Are you sure you don’t-”

“We are quite sure.” Lydia interrupts him. She stinks of uncontrolled death magic. She was an uncontrolled banshee that could still pose as and live with humans. Those aren’t common. He can see that being a banshee didn’t change much of her personality too much, either. 

He continues as if she said nothing. “Want to at least here what SAU would be giving you in return? I have done these before, and I know they quite frequently change minds.”

Lydia pauses. “In return?”

“Yes.” Jesus. Didn’t they hear him say trade That means trade, geniuses. “In return for a constant connection to the Nemeton, we will give you this.” He reaches into the bag they had probably forgot he was holding. According to to their instant reaching-for-weapons and shifting, they expect him to hold out a weapon. He rolls his eyes. Silly puppies. Like he would need a weapon against them.

Instead of the aforementioned weapon, he pulls out a small plate. He moves to do something with it, but then hesitates. “A bheil clàr an àite sam bith? (Do you have a table anywhere?)” The pack instantly grows even more tense. He could’ve spoken to Deaton in English. It was really funny when he didn’t. 

Deaton subtly smirks at him. “Tha. Leanaibh mise, cuiribh. (Yes. Please follow me.)”

The wolves and assorted others look on in confusion as Deaton and Stiles turn to a side door and walk into the examination room. Stiles stands on the far side with Deaton, and the others trail in cautiously. Stiles puts the plate on the table, and then reaches into his bag once more. He take out a fist-sized rock, two zip-lock baggies full of dried leaves, and a piece of metal with a strange symbol on it. He places them all next to the plate and steps back against the wall. 

The wolves sniff the air curiously while the others just look. “Do you what they are?” Stiles asks, humor evident on his tone. “Would you like me to tell you?”

Scott looks at Stiles in confusion, but Stiles refuses to let himself look back at him. “How do you know what they are?” He asks.

Stiles snorts at him. “I took botany and runes, just like almost every other student.” Scott shrinks a little bit, but no one seems to know what that really means. He’s completely fine with that. 

“You went to that school on the papers!” Isaac says suddenly, pointing casually at Stiles. “That’s how you know stuff.” He seems to understand at least a bit.

“I did.” Stiles replies. “Spark Alley University, or SAU, is what wants to trade with you. You should feel lucky. This trade is a good deal. This won’t be all, of course.” Stiles hurries to correct himself. “This will be constantly RCon-ed to you in bulk, but if you ever ask for assistance we can send reinforcements. Or any other potion ingredients you want, with limits, of course.”

Isaac looks at the other alpha. “That sounds like a pretty good deal, Derek.” Ah, his name was Derek. 

Deaton steps up to the table and grabs one of the bags of plants. He opens it, and sniffs experimentally. His eyes widen, and Stiles smirks. Quickly, Deaton grabs a inch of the herb and looks at it. The plant is a collection of small leaves. Each leaf is green where it would be facing the sun, but when you look under it the veins are a dark purple. Each leaf is around the size of a quarter. “Is this Anima?” He asks in wonder.

“Yes,” Stiles replies. 

“Oh my god.” He puts the leaves back in the bag and picks up the other. The pack is still staring at them in confusion. 

“And this is Tutela a Malo!” Deaton says, putting the other bag down again. That one was full of dark yellow leaves, with light green veins on both sides. Stiles nods.

“What are those?” Allison asks, suspicious. Probably because she doesn’t know what they are. 

“Tutela a Malo. Translated to protection from evil.” Deaton replies, already examining the runed metal. 

“When you cut it up and mix it with mountain ash it becomes mountain ash on steroids.” Stiles adds. “Anyone can put it down, even werewolves. The people who can’t cross it are anyone the placer considers ‘evil.’” It’s also rare, at least in America. It only grows in New Zealand, so it’s hard to get. 

“What about the other one? Animal, or something.” Isaac asks, jumping off Allison’s original question.

“Anima. It’s the rarest ingredient in a powerful healing potion.” Deaton replies to him. 

Isaac tilts his head. “Cool. We’re werewolves, though. Why would we need it?”

“Yes,” Stiles says. “Because non-werewolves in werewolf pack magically get werewolf healing.” Once again, Isaac has the decency to look embarrassed.

“What about the rock?” Lydia asks, drawn in by learning new things.

“Rajavartio, or border patrol. A Finnish-style golem. It walks a territory’s border and warns the alpha if anything evil crosses. Also, that will be the only one you get of those. Unless you bargain for it.” Stiles answers. That one was rather interesting getting a hold of. 

The pack seems impressed. Scott is still looking at Stiles, and Stiles can’t anymore. “Well, that was interesting. I got to go. Do widzenia. (Goodbye).”

“Wait,” Derek calls as the spark tries to pass by the pack to the door. “You haven’t explained what everything is yet.”

Stiles winks at him. “I’m sure your charming emissary can explain everything.” They both turn to Deaton, who is tapping at the runed metal, eyes furrowed. He looks very confused. “Like I said, bye.”

Derek tries to stop him again, but Stiles seems to step almost faster than a human should and is out the door by the time Derek gets there. He continues outside to his jeep, where he opens the door and slips inside. The charms on the roof and doors protect the sounds inside from all hearing, from supernatural to completely natural, so he feels comfortable pausing and putting his head on the wheel. 

Scott was a werewolf. A True Alpha, and had been for sometime. He was bitten by a werewolf, and didn’t tell Stiles. They were so close. Stiles would’ve done anything for Scott, and he had, several times. And Scott didn’t even tell him. His best friend had turned his back on him again and again, ripping out his heart every chance he could. 

He goes over every moment since Scott had started leaving him. The signs were there, but he hadn’t had the knowledge until now to really look at it. His heart twists, and he gasps in pain. When he saw Scott in the clinic. It felt like his whole world was coming down around. Scott had been his everything, one of the few people Stiles would have done anything for. Scott was Stiles’s best friend. But best friends don’t leave each other out in the cold and dark.

Stiles couldn’t stop himself. The tears started coming. He cried as he remembered all the times Scott had proved that he hadn’t cared about him anymore. Not talking to him, saying he was too busy to hang out, telling him to go away. The tears came even harder, and his breath caught in his throat. Scott had done that because he didn’t want to tell him he was a werewolf. Stiles kept crying, tears pouring down his face. He had thought Scott wasn’t important to him anymore, but as soon as he had seen him, his whole body had tensed up. 

He had frozen in shock, betrayal, and sadness. Not only was Scott a werewolf, but Lydia and Allison were in on it. He could forgive Lahey, he was a werewolf too, but Allison was a human. Just some human, same as Stiles. And he had told her. His best friend, who he had shared everything with, from his insecurities to his mother, hadn’t told him. After everything the two of them had gone through together...

He hadn’t fucking told him.

\-----

“What?” Stiles asks her.

They laugh slightly. “You need to got to Beacon Hills.”

“I heard that part, by why? And why me?” He asks once more.

They smile at him. “You need to go because we want to make a trade deal. Beacon Hills is a high-werewolf territory, and their pack has been notoriously closed off due to an inexperience alpha recently.” They look him in the eye, pulling out the assignment papers. They really want him to take this job. It would be amazing for SAU, and Stiles might finally get some closure in his old town. “You were born and raised in Beacon Hills, so you may have enough knowledge of the area to convince them to open up to a deal.” They gesture enthusiastically while they speak, almost hitting Stiles. 

He sighs. “Sure. I need to see Dad anyway. How long should it take?” 

They’re excited. That is a question only people considering it ask. Then they realize what the answer would be. They bite their lip, crossing their arms in front of them. “How about, ten months?” Yeah, he might not go for that length.

His eyes bulge and his jaw drops. “Yeah, no.”

“Come on, Red!” They beg, using a slightly dirty-handed trick of calling him that.

“No. I left that town, and I never want to go back.” He replies, ignoring the usage of his nickname. 

They frown. “Please do the job. Your dad may be allowed to visit, but he would love to see you. And besides,” they slip back into begging and whining. “We need you to do it!”

He sags. “Fine. But not for ten months. That is a ridiculously long time for a basic trade deal.”

They smile. “Yay!” They thought it would take a lot more than that for him to go for it. “How about five?”

“That is still way too much time.”

“Think about it this way,” they tell him. “You can make a trade deal and get more cred on your name, you can reconnect with your dad, and get closure on the Scott thing!”

He freezes. “What makes you think I need closure?” His eyes dart from her to the door. 

They laugh a little hysterically. “Oh, come on, Stiles! You would kill for some closure. You still want to know why Scott left you.”

He blushes slightly. “I’m totally over that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“He was your brother in everything but blood. You can’t not want to see him again ask him why.” They put their finger against their chin. “Or at least punch him in the face.”

Stiles looks slightly pissed. “No, I don’t!”

They sigh. “Fiiiiiiine. Do what you want. Will you take the job or not?”

He sighs back at them. “Sure.” 

They smile again. “Halle-fucking-lujah!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this is getting so much response!! Thank you so, so much for reading! Seriously, it means so much to me that people are reading and enjoying my story. So thanks.
> 
> By the way, both the golem and herbs are completely made up. Don't think I know anything about anything.


	5. while I nodded, nearly napping

Noah Stilinski looks outside the window at his driveway, watching the few people walking by. The current reason for his waiting is Stiles, who is in town, and was planning on dropping by soon. As he thinks this, the old blue jeep turns onto their street, and drives smoothly into the driveway. Noah smiles, walking towards the front door. He opens the door and waits. 

Stiles jumps of his jeep and runs towards his dad, jumping into his arms. The sheriff oofs, unprepared. He could have sworn Stiles did not weigh that much the last time he had seen him, which was his graduation from SAU, almost six months ago. 

The two of them say their hellos, and head inside. The sheriff moves to the kitchen, quickly grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. He steps towards the coffee, but Stiles frowns. “That stuff will give you a heart attack. Try this instead.” He tosses two packets at his father, who catches them easily.

They appear to be two tea bags. “Tea?” Noah questions.

“Magic tea.” He responds. 

Noah shrugs, “it better not taste like death.” He fills the cups with hot water and places the bags inside, then turns back to the living room, where they both sit down. Noah hands Stiles his tea, and they get ready to talk. 

“So, Piper told me you were here to make a trade deal with the pack here.” Sheriff says, looking at his son intently. He can’t pretend to know much about the nitty-gritty details of Stiles’s career, but he does know some. 

“Yes. SAU would draw power from the Nemeton and in return we would set up a shipping route for various magical plants and objects.” Stiles smiles as he says this, letting go of his drink to wave his hands around. Then he frowns. “But the pack in this area doesn’t seem very trusting, and I have some bad blood with them.”

Noah nods in response. “I understand.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. “You know the pack?”

“The supernatural parts of this town don’t know I have any knowledge of them, even though I do. The only one who does know is my deputy Parrish. No one else knows, however. Because of that I don’t know who exactly they are.” He says. And it is true. He has suspicions and estimates, but Parrish and him made a deal where the deputy tells him anything he has to deal with, and in return the sheriff lets the pack deal with the more supernatural side of the law.

“Well,” Stiles says, going serious. “Scott’s an alpha.”

Noah instantly chokes on his tea. “That’s not funny, Stiles,” he says half-heartedly when he recovers. But he knows it wasn’t a joke. Stiles looks way too serious for that. 

Stiles looks at him. “Apparently, Scott became a werewolf and started ignoring me and everyone else was in on it.” 

The sheriff drops his jaw, then places his tea on the coffee table. “Do you know who?” He asks, looking at his son. 

“I know Scott and Isaac are werewolves,” he replies. “But Allison, who was at the meeting too, is a human!” Noah bites his lip, hating the haunted and betrayed look in Stiles’s eyes. “I didn’t recognize him at first, but Derek Hale is apparently an alpha. And Lydia - fucking Lydia Martin! - is apparently a goddamn banshee!” Noah flinches. Stiles’s voice keeps getting louder and more angry. He jumps off the couch, starting to pace around the room.

“Son, calm down.” Noah says. Stiles turns to him.

“I will not calm down!” Stiles shouts, the windows shaking. “My best friend didn’t think I was important enough to know anything! But apparently a bunch of other virtual strangers were?” He suddenly collapses back onto the sofa. “I guess I’m just angry.” He hunches his shoulders, looking down. 

Noah sighs. “Have you talked to them about why exactly they left you?”

“No…” He says. “But I’m still angry.”

“That’s fine.” The sheriff says. “But don’t let anger cloud your judgement. Scott, if he is the alpha, is in charge here. You may be powerful, but you shouldn’t offend them.”

Stiles sighs. “I guess you’re right. I’ll talk with them tomorrow. I still need to sort out the endings for the deal and the _tenetur usque ad mortem_.”

Noah doesn’t really know what that means, he spent too much time as a non-magical human to really be able to understand the magic world, but he nods anyway. The conversation stills for a minutes, until the sheriff suddenly changes the topic, asking his son, “Do you remember the first time you told me you changed your mind from and wanted to go to some weird school in Michigan?” 

Stiles nods, a faint smile replacing the frown lines and darkness as he remembers. “You were so confused. I had to explain my apparent abilities.” 

Noah smiles back. When Stiles had come to him all those years ago with a confusing letter and a rushed explanation he had been very confused. Stiles was a master of hiding and avoiding the topic, but he had eventually gotten a very detailed vision of the events that had led up to that letter. 

“What have you been up to since I saw you last?” He asks. 

“Just scattered jobs. What about you?” Stiles counters. 

“Oh nothing much.” He responds. 

They keep talking until the sun starts to hit the horizon in preparation for nightfall. 

\-----

Derek opens the fridge and looks around. Thankfully, he isn’t the only person currently living in the building, so there is something in it. He debates between the leftover pasta and the leftover Chinese food, before deciding on the pasta. He grabs a dish and sticks it in the microwave. While waiting, Lydia walks into the kitchen. 

“Hello Derek.” Lydia says, passing him. Derek nods at her in recognition and grabs the food from the microwave and walks to the side table to eat. It’s built into the wall, and has a pretty view into the woods. The table is solid oak, heavy enough for werewolves to bang on without falling off the wall. It was Kira’s idea. She said it gave the kitchen personality. 

Normally he would eat in the living room, but Isaac, Danny, Jackson, and Boyd are in there doing something. Either a movie or a video game. For privacy they made the house with magical soundproofing. He can hear stuff, but can’t place it. It’s a little unnerving, but it feels peaceful to hear so little. 

Lydia grabs her own food and sits down across from him. They sit in silence for a moment, and then she says, “did anything interesting happen on patrol today?” 

Derek looks at her for a moment, before turning back to his spaghetti. “No. Why?”

She hesitates for a moment, pushing her food around. “I don’t trust Stiles.” She says eventually. “Showing up randomly like this, right when” she hesitates once more “this is happening.” 

Derek shrugs, rolling his eyes slightly. “It’s probably just a coincidence. There is no way he could know.” While the rooms themselves are soundproofed, the way outside isn’t, which adds protection. This is how Derek hears someone walk outside the door to outside, across from where Lydia and Derek are currently sitting and through a small mudroom. Derek recognizes the scent, however, and doesn’t move to defend.

Lydia frowns, not noticing the noise due to her humanity. “This is a big deal. A were - ”

“Hello there!” A voice calls. Peter opens the door to inside, and slips off his shoes in the mudroom. “How are you, darling nephew? And Lydia,” he winks at her. 

She frowns at him. While he is kind of pack now, not everyone trusts him completely. Lydia especially. “Why are you here?” She questions.

“I’m here to check on the status of the alphas, of course.” He replies. “I heard there was a new badass in town, and was wondering if their alpha egos were in danger.” Sarcasm, as usual, is his uncle’s favorite form of communication.

Lydia looks at him, seeming to be calculating something. “Did anything happen to you, recently?” She asks. While Lydia might be extremely intelligent, Derek thinks she might be wrong on this one. 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “I patrolled with my daughter about three hours ago. Nothing interesting happened at all.” He tells her, shrugging.

Derek nods. “I was with Boyd, right after Peter and Malia.”

Lydia frowns once more, lines appearing on her forehead. “I don’t trust him. No one just comes into their hometown that they haven’t been in for years unless they have some other reason.”

“He told us his reason.” Derek reminds her. “He said he was here for a trade.”

Lydia sighs. “Why would anyone want the Nemeton? And don’t forget, he hasn’t said if it would have any negative consequences. 

“Hey, Derek?” Peter asks, opening the fridge. “Why on earth do we have seven unopened boxes of butter?”

Derek’s eyes widen. “I have no idea.”

Peter closes the fridge, walking over to the coffee maker he says, “I’m guessing someone wanted to make a deal with us?” Derek nods. He forgot they haven’t had a pack meeting since they had talked with Stiles.

“Hey Lydia, can you tell everyone to meet up here in about an hour for a pack meeting?” She nods at him. 

“Who was it anyway?” Peter asks Lydia, placing his coffee on the table. He sits down, to Derek’s right and Lydia’s left, facing the window outside. “It sounds like you know him.”

Lydia nods again. “He was Scott’s friend. He was a total loser. It doesn’t make any sense why someone with as little potential as him would become in anyway powerful.”

Peter clicks his tongue at her. “Lydia, you shouldn’t judge. Scott himself was a total loser before he got turned. Supernatural ability can do funky things to someone’s confidence and attitude.”

Derek swallows the rest of his food, and slides his plate towards Lydia. “We don’t even know what he is.”

Peter frowns, turning to his nephew this time. Derek looks at him in return, and catches the confusion in his eyes. “He barely smelled like anything.” Derek reiterates. “He smelled like thyme and lavender if you ask me. But nothing supernatural at all.”

Peter looks on in confusion. “You can smell magic on almost anything even slightly exposed to the supernatural, even if you can’t always place the species.”

Derek nods. “That wasn’t even the weirdest part. He didn’t have any chemo-signals, and his heart rate stayed unnaturally even the entire conversation, even when it got tense.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “That doesn’t sound like good news.”

Derek nods. Lydia jumps in. “See? I’m not even a werewolf, but I could tell something was off about him. I don’t think he’s telling us everything.” She says, looking from one werewolf to the other. Her voice is frantic, hands starting to clench each other.

Derek exhales softly. “Maybe he isn’t to be trusted, but I don’t think we should jump down his throat quite yet.”

“Keep your enemies closer.” Peter agrees. “Just take turns keeping an eye on him. If he does anything weird, just tell the pack.”

Lydia stands up, pushing back her chair and grabbing her and Derek’s empty plates. Derek didn’t even notice her finishing. She walks to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll put it on the planner. Pack meeting is in an hour. Be ready.”

\-----

Stiles jogs down the hall, anxiously glancing at the room numbers. Sure, this school is small, but the campus is rather large for such a small average class size! Miss Williams, the lady who explained things, said it was because it accepted donations and did unique trade deals with foreign and difficult areas. Stiles thought that didn’t make sense. Why would a school create a monopoly on products? Scratch that, why would they even deal in trade at all? This is making him so confused. 

He continues walking, checking in on his map and schedule quite frequently. But then he realizes that the map and the hallway do not match up. Slowing down, he checks again. Yeah, it doesn’t make sense. 

“I think I’m lost.” Stiles murmurs to himself. He looks desperately at the surroundings. Nothing looked familiar enough to him let him know where he was. He frowns. “Late on my first day of class. Great.”

They haven’t even officially chosen their classes yet, so each student was given a randomized schedule of all the core classes. Because of this, Stiles has no idea where he’s supposed to be. He knows it’s languages, but where the hell is that. Swallowing his slight anxiety bubbling to the surface, he continues anyway. Might as well, right? He isn’t going to find it by looking at the same exact wall forever. He walks for a minute or two, until, by some stroke of luck, he finds a person. It’s still Beginner’s Luck, so they’re probably just as lost as he is. Still better than no one. He makes his decision.

“Hello!” Stiles calls out. “Are you lost? I’m not asking so I can help you, I’m asking because I’m super lost. If you’re not, I would appreciate a nudge in the right direction. I’m currently going to Languages. I had no idea Languages were important in magic. Whenever I did anything I just kinda flailed my limbs and prayed. I don’t speak anything but English. But I did see this shirt once that said I speak English, Sarcasm, and Profanity, and if that isn’t my motto in life I don’t know what is. Do you know that -”

“I’m going to Languages too.” The person says with a thick Russian accent. 

Is everyone here foreign but me? Stiles wonders to himself. “Really? Do you know where the classroom is?” He asks, trying not to ramble again. 

“This way.” The other person says. “My name is Boris.” Boris is a little short, Stiles realizes now that they are next to each other. He is all muscle, with a wide stance and thick limbs. He has light skin and dark eyes, and his hair is a medium brown. 

“So, Boris, where are you from?” Stiles asks, trying to fill the silence but not rant at the same time. 

“I was born in Saint Petersburg, but a couple of years ago my family moved to Moscow.” Boris replies. He speaks clearly, but slowly. 

Stiles nods. “That’s super cool. I’ve left the States, like, three times. When I was younger I went to Poland to visit my grandparents, but I barely remember it. I was young. And I’ve been to Mexico and Canada, but it doesn’t feel the same, you know?” Both are true. He went to Poland to see his mother’s family, but he was only four. 

“I’ve been to many places in Europe and Asia, but I’ve never been to either Americas.” Boris replies, turning his head to look at Stiles. 

He smiles. “Well, welcome to America, the Land of the Free!”

Boris chuckles lowly. Then he glances at his map. “I think if we turn here we can wrap back around to the hallway we were supposed to be on.”

Stiles nods again. Then he says, “that sounds right. Come on!”

They turn and continue walking once more. “So,” Stiles starts again, “what are you?” There are several different kinds of magicfolk at SAU, and Stiles doesn’t have nearly enough experience to tell who’s what. 

“I’m a witch. You?” Boris says. 

Stiles smiles. “Witches seem cool. You get to cackle and meet Harry Potter. I’m just a spark. What even is that?”

“Apparently, witches are skilled in complex spellwork, but have little natural power. I’ll probably end up taking Amulets for that reason.” Boris explains. 

“Cool! I’m think of taking Amulets too. Do you think that would be cool? As a spark, I need more control.” Stiles responds, waving his hands. He says, “they’re the exact opposite of witches. Lots of pure magic energy, but no natural talent with more complex spells.” He doesn’t know much about this school or magic theory in general, but he has a talent for absorbing information that he wants to know. Which is why he memorized the entirety of the poem “Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape”, by John Ashbery, yet failed ninth grade math.

Boris smiles at him. “Well, that sounds cool too. I imagine you can do cooler things than a witch.” He says, “I think this is where we’re headed.” He points to an open door. Stiles nods, and they step inside.

Walking into the classroom, Stiles scans the room. This isn’t Stiles first class here at SAU, but it is his first Language class. Even so, he is startled by the smaller class size. There are twenty five people, and a teacher sitting at a desk in front. Stiles and Boris slip inside. They aren’t late, but they are a little bit later than they could be. Stiles decides to sit in the back, and Boris decides to sit next to him. They look to the front, and wait for the introduction class to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for waiting! Not much to say today, just thank you!! For everyone that commented, I am so glad you are enjoying this as much as I am. I'll try to get one out by, let's say, Wednesday? It might be late though. I'm super busy during the week :(. Ah well. Hope you enjoy! Please reading and comment! They fuel me!


	6. suddenly, there came a tapping,

In the center of the Spark Alley University campus, there is a large building. It is the largest in the area. It actually two buildings, connected by an enclosed pathway. They are both made out of a dark red brick, with black roofs and windows along the sides. The larger of the two is four stories tall and has an entrance a pretty walkway through the lawn to a black door. The other is only two stories, and it’s own entrance is smaller, a wooden door at the end of a similar walkway. 

They both are gyms, used to learn and practice both physical and magical exercise. The smaller was for personal use, available most hours of the day, even going so far as to host several demonstrations and mini classes on certain topics. Think how normal gyms may have zumba and jazzercise, but cooler. Like dragon fighting and obstacle courses that have lava. This gym was called Maugris Hall, after the enchanter in the Matter of France.

The other building was for classes. The branches at SAU were broken into groups. One of these was the High Courses, also called the Magic Types. The building was full of classes and gym rooms for a variety of purposes. Right now, Stiles Stilinski is in one of the largest practice rooms in the building, which is in turn one of the largest on campus.

There were only a couple of these large practice rooms on campus and all were in Atlantes. They were used only for finals at the end of the year, and sometimes for class demonstrations, though those were rather infrequent in any year but freshmen. 

Stiles waits near the door for a minute, hesitating. Once this is over, he will be once piece closer to graduating. This is the SAU equivalent of Finals, called the Absolute Tests. Depending on how you do, you will be awarded a different grade, which will be on your final degree, which would come up with your name anytime someone casts an identity spell. Stiles is going for at least a Colonel score, which is like a B+. Each Absolute is different, depending on both the teacher and subject matter. He has already done three of them, so after this one he’ll only have four more to go. Thank the gods.

Stiles walked slowly to the center of the gym. This is the final test he will take for Evocation ever. He passes this class, and he will never need to take Evocation with Mrs. Mitchell. She is powerful and intelligent, but there was a reason the Advanced Evocation teacher was voted fourth strictest teacher on campus. Stiles and Mrs. Mitchell do not get along great, but at least she’s better than Mr. Harris. That guy sucked.

This is the last class! He cheers to himself. He has a couple more tests in other subjects before the year properly ends, but he is almost halfway through the Absolutes! Yay! The last few years were super intense, but he is glad he agreed to come here. He fucking  
magic.

He makes it to the center of the room, and glances around. The room itself is large, easily as big as the auditorium in Morgan Hall, where all-school assemblies were held. Stiles looks at the high stone ceiling, carved with symbols Stiles can’t make out from the distance. They helped protect the ceiling and walls from damage from spell damage. The walls come down in a curve, meeting the stone floor in a huge circle that makes up the perimeter of the room. The door, also stone, is still open, waiting for the other students to arrive. Stiles is rather early, beaten only by the teachers, their assistants, and Grace, a girl he had never met personally, but knew of from both this class and the others they had shared.

He waited, standing in the center, fiddling with a puzzle spell his  
had given him two years ago, when he refused to sit still while she was explaining things. As he played with it more people walked in, and eventually everyone in that class arrived. The average class size at SAU was rather small, and this year was no exception. This Advanced Evocation class only had twelve students, and it was one of the largest programs. Stiles actually likes the small class size. He may not be best friends with anyone in this specific class, but he can name almost everyone in the room.

“Welcome, students!” Mr. Wells, the Advanced Abjuration teacher, calls out to them. Stiles knows he’s here because multiple teachers always are on Absolute days, but it seems ridiculous to make him the one to give the speech. He’s always too enthusiastic, which Stiles is appreciative of, but this isn’t even his class. “As you know, this is the final Evocation test you will ever have, for it is your Senior year, and you are graduating in such a short time!” The class cheers, and Stiles smiles, punching the air as the people around him shout encouragement to each other. 

“Attendance.” Mrs. Mitchell says, looking at the spellboard in front of her. “Ava Attar!” A tiny Persian girl waves her hand, and Stiles tunes out.

Stiles tunes out of the rest of attendance and looks at the teachers instead. Mrs. Mitchell is an imposing aura, but a rather small person. She’s only five feet and has medium length brown hair that she ties back in a bun. She is wearing a traditional battle outfit, which is a pair of loose pants that reach mid-shin, a sleeveless shirt, and a complex armband that shows her status. Her outfit is blue, the colors of an Evocation Master. She is american, one of the few teachers from this country, and is a powerful Spark. Most sparks tend to fall into the high power branches, like Evocation and Necromancy. 

Standing next to her, smiling wide and enthusiastically, is Mr. Wells, the aforementioned Advanced Abjuration teacher. He is wearing the same thing as Mrs. Mitchell, but in white, the colors of an Abjuration Master. Another difference with their outfit’s is he is wearing the male version, which is different only by having a slightly different cut on the shirt. He is much taller than her, at five nine, and has wild black hair. He’s a british Fae-Born, and his defensive magic is the strongest on campus, which makes sense considering his subject. 

“Mr. Stilinski!” Stiles hears his name and waves. Most teachers respect his preference of Stiles, but some don’t like nicknames. They just call him Mr. Stilinski. After a few more names, Mr. Reilly, the final teacher in the room, steps forward. “In a circle around the room there are green dots on the floor. Will everyone please stand on one?”

The crowd of students wander off to the dots, which are placed rather far apart. Stiles walks to one to the right of the door, in what would be the corner if the room wasn’t a circle. He stands on his chosen dots, and turns back to Mr. Reilly. Mr. Reilly is the tallest teacher at six two, and is also the quietest. He has a calming presence and tends to be liked by a lot of students. He lets kids do pretty much whatever they want, as long as they follow the rules and get stuff done. Stiles thinks of him as his third favorite teacher. 

He has pale skin and long red hair, which make sense for his Irish blood. He is a druid and the Advanced Conjuration teacher. He is wearing male battle robes in orange, and has his long hair tied back in a ponytail. Stiles glances at the others in the room. There are four healers, which is an average amount for a Evocation test, and two teachers assistants. Teacher assistants are graduates of SAU who are back in the area for whatever reason. They tend to help with demonstrations and tests. They aren't qualified to be teachers. 

“This is your Absolute Test for Evocation.” Mrs. Mitchell says. “A General Melee.” Stiles starts in surprise. Normally Melees are rewards, not tests. Though they have been a couple times before, just not frequently. He shakes his head. Melees are fun. He can do this. “You are only allowed to use Evocation spells. Any others will take away points.” Mrs. Mitchell continues, ignoring the startled whispers of some of the more surprised students. 

“Alliances if you want, but there can only be one winner. You will be scored on the success, strength, and creativity of your casting, not on how soon you are defeated. You have a minute to plan and organize.” Stiles debates and alliance, but decides to go in alone. He whips through his mental Evocation spellbook. Mostly offensive charms, some pretty nasty curse, a few interesting counterspells. Stiles doesn’t doubt he can beat at least half the class. 

This test is about creativity, or at least part of it. While Stiles strength may not match up against some of the heavy hitters (Jakov, a serbian, and Rodolphe, a frenchman; it takes a lot to counter their spells), he can counter almost everyone else's. His offensive magic can’t beat a few counterspells (Noelani, a hawaiian, with some of the strongest counterspells outside of the Abjuration class), but Stiles can cut through almost anyone else’s. 

Stiles steadies his weight on the balls of his feet. He has no doubt he can do this, if he tries. 

Mr. Wells raises his hand. Mrs. Mitchell keeps speaking, announcing the countdown. “Melee starts in three.” Green magic pours from Mr. Wells’ fingers, traveling quickly along the floor. Stiles recognizes it as a shielding spell.

“Two.” It starts to race up the walls, painting the room a soft green. 

“One.” The magic wave moves up the ceiling, making the runes shine a blinding white. The spell is simple, but it gains marvelous strength as the runes power it.

“Go.” Instantly, several things happen. The spell meet itself at the apex of the ceiling, causing the green shimmer to vanish and the runes to dull. The three teachers, plus the assistants and the healers, vanish in a teleport spell, presumably teleported to the watching room to grade the students. Finally, as soon at the word leaves Mrs. Mitchell’s mouth, everyone attacks.

\----

Peter is waiting with the rest of his pack. Well, technically they’re not his his pack, but they’re close enough. Pack adjacent as he is, he can sense the faint bonds that connect him to Derek, Cora, and Malia. Currently, a few important members of the pack are in a small house on the far edge of the Hale property. Deaton had told them to go there, and to wait for him and the spark to arrive. 

It’s the day after the mysterious Stiles’s arrival, and they are waiting for him to show up here, at the meeting point. Last night they had held a whole pack meeting, and decided on the next course of action. It was decided, with much resistance from Lydia, Scott, and Allison, that they would meet with Stiles to discuss in much further detail why he was back in Beacon hills, and what this trade deal would mean. After even further discussion, it was decided that only some of the pack would take part in that meeting. 

Peter was one of the ones chosen as to delegate, due to his knowledge of the supernatural and general experience. Also chosen were the alphas (duh) and a few of the highest priority members. The final party ended up being around ten people, plus Deaton (for his knowledge) and Stiles himself. And now they are waiting in a side building for the vet to arrive with the spark in question. 

Peter looks around. The small house is tiny. It isn’t actually a house, he corrects himself. A large room with a bathroom did not a house make. The large room has a large table, made of solid oak, resting in the middle. It easily sits fifteen people, even though there are only ten people in it right now. At the head of one table sits Scott, with the others sitting down the sides. 

Peter is on the edge, with the empty end of the table on his left and Derek on his right. He waits patiently, with his head resting on one hand, for the guest of honor to arrive. This old building used to be where Talia would meet with other ambassadors that she didn’t trust enough to bring further into her territory. Derek, being so young, didn’t know about the place. Peter and Deaton had lead the pack there when they expressed interest in having a proper meeting with Stiles. 

The pack was talking with themselves, murmuring and gossiping about everything. Peter, Derek, and Boyd all remained silent. Eventually, all the werewolves grew silent, listening intently at the door. The humans (and extra-humans) all grew quiet as well, noticing how alert their friends had become. 

Peter listened to the sound of Deaton’s car as it traveled along the road towards the building. He heard nothing from the inside. Slowly, the sound grew louder, until the humans could hear it as well, and then cut off. Everyone listened in silence as the door slid open, and Stiles stepped in. 

Peter’s first thought was that he was wearing a battle outfit and a thick cloak. The werewolf immediately stiffened, claws waiting just under the surface. Then he noticed that faint differences between a true battle outfit and what Stiles was wearing. 

The pants were longer and tighter, and the shirt had sleeves, even if they were hidden slightly by the cloak. It had the same cut and the same colors as a traditional battle outfit, but it wasn’t. There was also a small line of black symbols that followed the seams of the whole outfit, which Peter could not read. It was red, which Peter does not recognize. He knows colors show the abilities of the wearer, but he doesn’t know the meaning of red. He mentally punches himself in the face. Of all the things not to know.

Also worn by the stranger is the black cloak, clasped with a dark red jewel. It was asymmetrical, the jewel resting much further Peter’s right than the left. Because of this, it obscured most of the right side of Stiles’s body, yet revealing most of the left. 

Filled with confusion, Peter allowed his wolf to settle a bit, but he still kept a wary eye out. Not just anyone had battle clothes these days, especially not ones that were that heavily warded. Peter could literally smell the protective magic that was spelled into the cloth when it was made. 

Thinking of the magic made Peter wonder if they were strong enough to withstand physical blows. Would a strike from a werewolf even hurt him with those on? Could Scott, a true alpha, even slice those clothes with his claws? He knew legitimate battle clothes were powerful, but he didn’t know how powerful. 

Disturbed and unsettled by that train of thought, Peter dug himself out of his thoughts. Stiles was standing just inside the door, eyes analyzing the room. He looked younger than Scott by a lot, but he knew that wasn’t the case. His face had a feminine quality, and his body was tall, but thin. He looked vaguely like a gymnast. 

Peter raises an eyebrow at this new incomer. This Stiles was very powerful, and extremely well-off in the world of magic as well, if his clothing had anything to say about him. They will need to step with caution. Hopefully the shared history between Stiles and some of the pack is enough to keep them in the spark’s good graces. Remembering what Lydia had said about Stiles, however, told Peter not to trust that too much. His wolf stays on guard. Stiles is an unexplored chess piece, and Peter doesn’t know his moves yet.

Stiles looks appraisingly over their pack. His heartbeat gives away almost nothing, but a faint blip is heard when his eyes trace over Jackson, Boyd, and Erica. Peter realizes that Stiles hadn’t known who was a werewolf when he left, and the werewolf smirks. Stiles may be powerful, no one is invincible to emotional turmoil. Maybe that will sway him off balance enough for Peter to read him.

It won’t, apparently. Stiles quickly kept looking around the room, eyes flitting back and forth, until they eventually came to a stop while meeting Scott’s. The alpha flashes his eyes red. Stiles smirks slightly, and Peter has never felt a greater urge to facepalm. 

Stiles looks over them once more and, slowly, his confidence and his smirk slip into slight frown. His concern continues into confusion and disbelief. “Umm…” He says, eyes flitting between Scott and the other members of the pack. 

Deaton, whom Peter had forgotten was following Stiles inside, coughs while glaring at Scott. The alpha looks at the vet, and asks “What?” 

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “You really don’t know much about how to be a werewolf, do you?” He asks in return. He seems to find it funny, but what he was laughing at even Peter didn’t know. Peter glances where Stiles is looking, but doesn’t see anything out of place.

Deaton sighs. “There’s etiquette for this.” He explains to the pack. They all look at the magicfolk in confusion.

“What do you mean, etiquette?” Liam asks. 

Stiles giggles, a sharp edge to the laughter. “I said I would forgive your poor manners, but I was not expecting someone to break the Sceau de protection de la France.” He bites his lip, obviously attempting to calm himself. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Lydia blushes a bright red. “The Protection Seal of France?” She asks. “What is that?”

Stiles smiles at her. “Just some etiquette from France. Nothing to bother with. I was just used to everyone knowing it. It’s not important.”

Lydia moves to say something again, probably to ask about the French thing again, but Derek interrupts. “Let’s start the conversation, shall we?”

Peter is disappointed with the interruption, but he understands why Derek interrupted. “How about introductions?” Peter asks. “I’ll start. My name is Peter Hale.” Turning to the person on his right, he nodded.

That person was Derek. “I am Derek Hale, one of the alphas.”

Stiles frowns. “Then why aren’t you-” He cuts himself off. “Nevermind. And you?”

Isaac, who’s next to Derek, blinks. “You know who I am, Stiles.”

Stiles bristles, and Peter can see the tension in his shoulders. “Apparently I don’t, Mr. Werewolf.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m Isaac Lahey,” Isaac says quickly. “I was turned mid-Sophomore year.” he blurts out.

Stiles nods. “Around when Scott started to hang out with you.” he replies. “That sure is an interesting coincidence.” He adds, looking directly at Scott with his eyes narrowed and voice tightened imperceptible. Nonetheless, Scott recognizes the accusation. 

Jackson, having become slightly better at not being a huge dick, is quick to interrupt. “I’m Jackson Whittemore.” He waves at Stiles, and the other seems so confused by his interruption and following behavior that he does nothing but wave back. 

“I’m Lydia Martin.” Lydia continues after her boyfriend. “I was at the meeting at Deaton’s.” 

 

“I know,” Stiles agrees. “I was there.”

Lydia crosses her arms tightly, and throws him a light lipped smiles. He responds with his ever-present smirk only growing.

That reaches the end of Peter’s side of the table, and Scott stands. “I am Scott McCall,” he says firmly. He hooks his thumbs in his pockets and straightens his back. “I am the alpha of this territory. I don’t know who you are or why you’re pretending to be Stiles, but i will not stand for it.”

Stiles inhales sharply, heart speeding up. Peter would expect to smell the bitter tang of fear, but he smells nothing. Stiles balls his fists and steps up. He puts his hands on his hips and stares Scott in the eye, daring him. “I really am Stiles Stilinski.” He bares his teeth. “Talk to my father if you want proof. But be warned, Scotty,” he says the nickname with true anger, voice harsh and rough, spitting the consonants in the alpha’s face. “I am much different than the Stiles who used to be your friend. I know my place here and I will not overstep my bounds, but you should learn to do the same.” 

Stiles looks away from Scott. It would seem to be a sign of submission, but the sharp turn of his head leads to a feeling of dismissal. “I know many of you, and have no interest in relearning, so I hope we can get business done with so I may continue with my own life.” He looks pointedly at the next person. 

Allison meets his eyes with barely a flinch. “I’m Allison Argent, and i am a hunter. Make sure you remember that, witch.”

Stiles’s eyes widen. “It’s not everyday someone does that.” He murmurs to himself, even though half the people in the room could hear it. “Well,” he says, back to full volume, “If you are a hunter, Miss Argent, you should know that I am not a witch.” He ignores her narrowed glare. 

Peter shoots a glare at the next person at the table. That person is Liam, who is looking rather pointedly at Stiles. His eyes are narrowed and he’s leaning forwards, trying desperately to sense something from the stranger. Peter continues glaring, and, after a moment of tension, he notices. Liam jumps to attention. “My name is Liam Dunbar.” he raises his hand, and- oh my god, is he going to salute?

Peter has one of those moments you get before a disaster happens. You could do something, but you just kind of freeze, sit there and watch in a mixture of sadism and secondhand embarrassment. 

Peter was correct in his assumption. Liam’s hand hits his brow and Stiles narrows his eyes, tilting his head at the newest member of the Hale pack. He is interrupted for his thoughts of confusion, however, when the next person speaks. Peter notes faintly that interrupting people before things get too tense or awkward is a trend today.

“I’m Boyd.” Boyd turns to Erica.

“I’m Erica Reyes!” She says, winking at Stiles. 

He nods at them and waves. “Hello.” His eyes are still narrowed. In disbelief, suspicion, or lingering anger, Peter can’t tell. 

Finally, the last in line is Deaton, who nods at Stiles, not bothering to introduce himself. Stiles’s eyes flash with a sudden idea, and he smirks at the pack. “For my own formal introduction, I am Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. I used to be a friend to some of you, a best friend to fewer still, but I did know almost all of you.” He steps forwards, the sudden movement making his coat blow in the wind. He looks directly into Scott’s eyes, and even though Peter couldn’t see them the way Scott now could, he knew Stiles was issuing a challenge.

“I trained for six years at Spark Alley University on a scholarship, working my magic and my mind to their absolute limit. I became a Master of Spark, the most powerful type of Master there is.” He moves his hands in front of him, creating a ball, then pulling them apart. Peter felt the pressure in the room drop, popping his ears.

Stiles’s eyes seem darker than they were before, and as he pulls the pressure continues to drop. Suddenly, he releases. The room returns to normal, and everyone gasps in alarm. Allison shrieks and grabs at her waist, presumably for a weapon. Erica screams, “What the hell!” Liam pitches forwards, barely catching himself on the table. 

Stiles bares his teeth. “Don’t disrespect me. There’s a reason I’m a Master.” For a moment, everything is still. Then Stiles smirks once more, and the heavy tension laying on everyone seemed to lighten slightly. 

He walks forward, pulling out a chair with a wave of his hand. Lydia flinches at the casual magic. He sits in the chair, and scoots forwards. Peter watches in silence as he slams his elbows on the table and steeps his fingers. The spark raises an eyebrow at them. “Well? What are you waiting for? Is it time to make a deal or what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I should never promise anything again. I am so sorry! I overestimated my own abilities! Here's the deal. I'll update every weekend. Does that work? I can probably do that. This week, however, is my vacation! And I don't have anything to do. So if I write a lot, I'll save it for emergencies. One chapter a weekend is, sadly, the best I can do for now.
> 
> Also, on a different note, I made a side blog! I have no idea how to link things, but check it out!
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/doa333
> 
> It will only be for this. I haven't posted anything yet, but as time goes on I might post things like character reference sheets, class explanations, grades, and schedules. But that probably won't be for a little bit, so don't get your hopes up. Anyways, please check it out. I really appreciate every single person who reads this story. Thank you so much!!!
> 
> Also, does anyone want a specific character to have POV? I don't really have a set idea on who its should be yet. I would love some ideas. As usual, please read and review! Comments and kudos are my lifeblood!


	7. as of some one gently rapping,

Deaton looks around. Everyone in the room is still rather shaken by Stiles display, Deaton included. That was a pressure spell, which were very hard to use. And he hadn’t used and words, which was also very difficult. Add those together, along with the amount of control he had displayed while casting it, lead to a very powerful Master. If Deaton had known Stiles had any sort of magical aptitude, he would not have told Scott it was too dangerous for Stiles. 

Deaton had known Stiles was powerful from the minute he had stepped into the witch’s home. He had known it existed and how to contact him, and that in and of itself had shown how much knowledge he had of the supernatural. The slight pressure that Deaton felt ever so slightly at the back of his head when Stiles was too close just added to the show of power Stiles was putting on. All magic reacted with other magic around, which included Deaton and the pack, so it was no surprise that the spell was causing some aches. 

Deaton is surprised that only Peter seems to be sensing it. 

“So,” Erica says, “how does this work, exactly?”

Stiles looks at her, “I can explain the terms of the deal, how the deal will be officiated, or the components of the deal. Which one would you prefer?” He glances questioningly at Scott. 

Everyone looks carefully at each other. Scott, still looking rather suspiciously at Stiles, says “How about how it will be officiated. Does it use magic?”

Stiles nods. “Yes, magic is involved. When we both decide and agree on what is happening between the two parties, and then we will cement a trade deal, or a _tenetur usque ad mortem_.” Stiles explains.

“Bound to the death?” Lydia exclaims. 

Stiles frowns. “You know latin?” He asks her. 

She nods. “I know latin, and that does not sound like something we should be doing. Bound to the death?” She says, looking at Scott.

Scott nods. “I don’t want to be bound to something for my life.” He agrees with Lydia. Deaton subtly shakes his head, but no one seems to notice. Goddammit. I am literally telling you what you shouldn’t bring up. Do you want to look like morons in front of him?

Stiles frowns. “Old magic is designed to be flashy and dangerous. Most spells that date back to B.C. have names that don’t always mean what they seem to mean. But trust me when I say that is nothing but an exaggeration. The spell is easily breakable by anyone who knows what they’re doing.”

Scott looks affronted. “Why would we trust you? We don’t know anything about you!” He glares at the spark, ands everyone jerks back. 

Stiles grits his teeth, and Deaton clenches his jaw. This is not going well. “You know plenty about me, Alpha.” His eyes harden as he glares at Scott. “We shared everything. Or, I thought we did.” 

Scott opens his mouth to reply, and probably make things worse, but thankfully, someone else is ready. “What exactly does this thing do?” Erica says. “And if it really is a bonding, I’m sure someone could take one for the team.” She winks at Stiles, a smirk growing across her face. 

He stares blankly at her, seemingly ignorant of her advances. “No, it’s not a bonding. It’s just a mark, like a small tattoo, that will appear on the representatives of each party and lock the trade deal in place. It doesn’t do much of anything.” Derek, Deaton notices, seems to be considering it. 

“Then what is it used for?” Liam says, tilting his head and looking to all the world like a innocent puppy. 

Stiles smiles, seeing the resemblance as well. “Simply to stake a bond. It is used as a contract. Mostly in things like court, though it does have minor alerts. If either party is trying to break the deal it alerts the other. It’s useful for communication between us, as well.”

“Communication?” Boyd asks, voice soft.

Stiles nods, apparently starting to come to terms with the Hale pack’s lack of basic spell knowledge. “A communication spell needs something to identify where or who you’re trying to contact.” He explains. 

“Like a phone number.” Peter says.

“A magical bond is one of the easiest and most specific forms of identification.”

Everyone goes quiet for a moment, until Allison asks, “How exactly will everything work? If we want things, how will you get them to us?” Scott and Jackson nods in agreement. “I doubt you will be carting things down from Michigan.”

Stiles smiles. “That is a rather easy question.”

“Well?” She asks once more.

“Portal magic.” He replies.

Lydia furrows her brow. “Portal magic? You’re gonna get a portal to Michigan?”

Stiles nods. “Yes. I’ll make a portal and -”

“You’re making a portal?” Liam questions, interrupting Stiles.

The spark huffs. “Yes. As I was saying, I’ll make a portal. As a representative of SAU, and an alumni as well, I have the proper qualifications.” At the rest of the pack’s inquizzitive looks, he continues. “My major is Master of Spark,” Stiles says, “and because of that I am also a Conjuration Master.” 

Deaton’s eyes widen. He doesn’t remember what exactly a Master of Spark is, but he does know it is a title given to someone who Masters a certain combination of fields. Apparently, Conjuration is one of those. He thinks another is Divination? Or maybe Evocation?

Stiles continues, “One of the spells in my repertoire is portal creation. As soon as the bond is formed, I will create a long-term portal in a location of your choosing. This will be the path for any transport vehicles to travel.”

Derek’s eyes narrow, and before he can ask anything, Stiles continues. “You will be able to sense anyone who enters or exits this portal.” He waves his hands dramatically. “Also, anyone who knows about the portal may use it however they wish. If you are trying to get to Michigan, or anywhere nearby, you may use the portal to cut down costs of time. In return, we ask for the same courtesy with any trips I or any of my colleagues may need.”

“So,” Lydia asks the spark. “We make this deal, and there will be a direct portal straight to us, that we won’t have any control over?” Her voice gets harsher, banging on eardrums. “Why the hell would he agree to that kind of vulnerability?”

Stiles frowns. “This would give you a large amount of knowledge and materials. You would be able to shut it down whenever you wanted. You can place it wherever you want. How is this an obvious vulnerability?” He asks. He holds his hands out in a questioning manner. 

“Well, you could come and attack us at anytime!” She cries. “And we would have no idea!”

“Here.” Stiles says. “After the deal is decided, one or two of you can come visit SAU. Then you can see that it won’t attack you.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow. “Spark Alley would let you bring a non-magicfolk to their campus?” 

Stiles nods. “Will that make you trust this portal? And besides, you can get it shut down whenever you want.”

“What do you mean?” Allison asks. “How could we shut it down?”

“Trade deals are not permanent.” Stiles says. “As I previously mentioned, they are rather easy to break.” At questioning glances he continues, “As soon as either party wants the deal to end, they merely have to call down a representative and go through the breaking process, which is rather simple. 

“How does that work?” Isaac asks. “How would you get someone to break it?”

Stiles looks at him. “All you would have to do is call SAU and they'll send a rep. Then you can break it with them. Also, I will be here for a while, and I am a representative, so I could do it as well.” He smiles, turning back to the pack as a whole. 

“So this spell will bind the deal in place.” Peter summarizes. “And you,” he winks “are making us portals?”

At Stiles nod, he continues once more. “That seems rather difficult, that portal. What are you getting from this?”

Stiles looks at the older man appraisingly. “You know what that nemeton does. What do you think we’re getting from this?”

Everyone pauses. Deaton looks at Scott. The alpha is looking around at his packmates, but none seem to know how to respond. Deaton sighs. Allison and Lydia are the only two people who seem to bother with research, but the Nemeton has never come up as an important resource or adversary while they’ve been here, so they have never had a reason to look into it. Because of this, they know nothing about the Nemeton. All they know is the nemeton is a beacon of power that calls to other supernatural beings. 

Stiles folds his hands behind his back, straightening his posture with a smirk. He answers his own question. “Nemetons are rare and powerful. If we could set up a power transfer spell, the power would be quite helpful.”

Deaton realizes that Stiles is withholding information. The nemeton is more than just a power source, but he doesn’t seem to have any interest in that aspect. Ignoring the thought, Deaton asks Stiles “You brought samples of a couple different things to my office. How much of these items would we be receiving?” 

Stiles turns to him. “That is what we need to decide. You will receive plenty of Anima and Tutela a Malo, as well as the golem. You may also have the plate and the metal, as well as the runes.” 

Lydia glances at Deaton, and he nods slightly. She turns to Stiles and is about to ask about those, but before she can speak her boyfriend interrupts.

“Can we talk about what exactly you’re going to be doing with this power?” Jackson asks rather harshly. Everyone in the room turns to him. “How do we know you won’t be using this to bomb us or something?”

Deaton sighs once more. He notices Peter doing the same from across the table. 

Stiles smiles rather sharply, eyes glinting. “The power that SAU receives from the Nemeton will have several uses. The power drain will send it directly to the reserves, and from there the energy does everything from power the school itself to charge defensive spells around the world.”

“Reserves?” Boyd questions, raising an eyebrow. 

“The reserves are giant power containers on a side island near the campus. They have direct energy courses in and out of places all around the world.”

Lydia opens her mouth to ask a question, but Stiles continues over her. “Defensive spells are shields and healing charms. Most are in war torn areas, such as Iraq.”

Scott frowns. “You have shields up in Iraq?”

Stiles nods briskly. “SAU is not part of the United States Government, but it does function as an independent country in alliances and wars.”

“Wait, SAU is another country?” Liam asks, leaning back in confusion. 

Stiles shakes his head. “SAU is not a country, it merely allies itself as one. It is not part of America, so it has the flexibility to do what it wants.”

“So the power will be drained from the Nemeton, and sent to Iraq?” Isaac asks.

Stiles exhales. “No. I said it is sent to the reserves, and from there energy does several different things. That is one of them.”

Lydia opens her mouth and blinks for a moment. “Wait, what is SAU?” She asks when she appears to have gathered her thoughts. 

Stiles looks briefly upwards at the ceiling. Deaton can almost feel the impatience and frustration rolling off the Master. “SAU refers to a chain of island of the coast of Michigan. Spark Alley is the name of the town on the main island. The university is located on one of the islands. SAU functions as a college, as well as a business for trade and hired muscle in the magic world.” He says, each word harsh and precise. Deaton gets the sense that he’s said this many times before. 

“So it drains from many different sources?” Peter asks. 

Stiles nods.

“So how will it affect ours?” 

“This power drain shall not affect the Nemeton negatively. Unless, of course…” He drifts off, resting his hand on his chin. “But that’s unlikely,” he murmurs to himself. 

Lydia raises her eyebrows at him. “What?”

He turns to them once more, eyes widening comically. “Are you using the Nemeton as a home center in any spells that cast longer than four months?” he asks.

“No.” Deaton says. He doesn’t even know any spells that cast longer than _one_ month, let alone four.

No one else seems to know what this means, but before any questions can be asked Stiles continues. “The Nemeton will only have less of a beacon, which many territories consider a positive consequence.”

Judging by the looks Erica sends to Derek and Boyd, they think so too. Then she furrows her eyebrows. “What about Beacon Hills?”

Stiles looks at her. “What do you mean?”

“How will the power drain, or even the portals or deal itself, affect Beacon Hills?” She asks again.

Stiles nods, and puts a hand on his chin. “As I mentioned, the teleporter will be open. If it is far enough from civilization, I can also cast spells that will repel anyone who doesn’t know about magic.” Stiles replies. 

“What about the magic?”

“The magic powering them will be drained from the area around them, but that will only be magical energy.” Deaton nods. That makes sense. Portals are complex magic and to make them permanent you really do need a strong magical force for it to feed off. In this case that would be the magic of the earth and forest around it. 

“As long as you don’t put as right next to any electrical plants or too close to where you want to do your own magic, you’ll be fine.” Stiles continues. “As for the power drain, that will have no effect. The trade deal as well.”

Erica nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

Stiles nods in return. “Any other questions?”

Deaton tilts his head. “You said you would be staying here for about five months, but I’m still not positive where that time will be spent. How long will this take?” He asks the spark.

Stiles bites his lip. “Five months is a rather loose estimate. Many things can go wrong and many things can go right, so we tend tend to say that long as a guideline for timing.”

Allison widens her eyes. “Things could go wrong?” 

“Spells can be miscast, there can be disagreements and standstills while making the deal, there can be things about either place that can mess with the portals, really anything can go wrong.” He replies. Allison and Scott exchange looks. “Don’t worry,” Stiles attempts to placate them. “None of these things are major. I have done this before and now how to prevent them.”

“So, what exactly will you do during this time?” Derek asks.

“The very first things to do is make the final deal. This is through discussion from both parties, so I will need to send updates to my partner at SAU rather frequently.”

“Partner?” Peter asks.

“Just my connection to SAU. I send things to them and they check with the headmaster to see if the corrections are within budget. They also send me corrections that I will clear with you.”

Peter nods. “Okay…”

“Anyways, creating the final draft of the deal and all of it’s terms takes about a month. Then a week to set up and cast the _tenetur usque ad mortem_.”

“Okay.” Derek says. “That casts the spell, but what about the Nemeton?”

“Not considering any difficulties or problems, casting the enchantments on the Nemeton will probably take almost another month or so. We will need to get all the materials from SAU, then cast the purification charms, then do the final ritual, each of which will take about a week.”

“I don’t know what all of those are,” Erica states clearly, “but I’m assuming they are all important?”

Stiles nods. “Yes.”

“Okay then.” Jackson says. “That’s the first two months. What about the rest of it?”

“Casting a large portal to Michigan will take a similar amount of time. Gathering ingredients, casting the ritual on the area you choose as well as the area SAU chooses, and then testing will take about three weeks. Making it permanent will take another two weeks or so.”

“That is a while.” Peter says. “Are you sure you can do all of that?”

Stiles sighs. “This isn’t my first rodeo. I can do all of this easily, I just need time. The rest of it will be watching over the assignment and checking for any glitches of faulty spellwork. I’ll check in with SAU as well.”

“We should talk about this.” Scott says.

Stiles nods. “Okay, what are your questions?”

“I meant alone.” He bites back. Stiles jerks back, eyes widening in surprise. Scott speaks again, just as harshly. “You can go home. We will call for you when we’ve made a decision.”

Stiles straightens his shoulders. “Okay. Goodbye, everyone.” He says. “It was nice to meet you all once more.” He stands up, pushing his chair back. He slide the chair back in and steps towards the door. 

Deaton tilts his head, wondering why he left so easily. Most pack probably want time to discuss, he rationalizes. He’s probably used to being told to leave for decisions. “Don’t you need a ride?” Deaton asks. “I can drive you back to the clinic.” 

Stiles shakes his head. “No, thank you! I got it.” He turns to face the pack. They expect him to speak, but all he does is raise his arms to them, palms down. Instantly, everyone is on edge. Deaton himself tenses, reaching for mountain ash by his hip, even if it wouldn’t do much against a spark. 

Before the pack can do anything, whether it be question or attack, Stiles moves. He pushes his thumbs together and raises his arms, then crosses the left arm in front of the right. His left arms grabs his cloak, and he stops, saying, “ _Spiritu solidarietatis centrum revertetur ad me_. (Spirit of solidarity, return me to my center).” His eyes flash an inhumane gold and he vanishes. Everyone flinches and jerks back. 

“Where did he go?” Liam yelps. 

Deaton frowns. “That was a teleportation spell.” He explains. “You need to mark a place as your center, and whenever you cast it you will teleport there.”

Lydia frowns. “Where’s that?” 

“I have no idea.”

Allison says, “Why did he do that? And how?”

“I assume it was to get somewhere.” Deaton says to her. He doesn’t mention how there was probably a part of Stiles that did that to make a point. “It is fairly simple, but ti does take a lot of magical energy to mark the center and move yourself there. Not to mention control so you hit it right on, and don’t teleport yourself into a wall.”

“Huh.” Peter says. “I’ve heard of that. Most who use it choose really open spaces, so he’s probably back at SAU.”

“SAU?” Isaac asks. “How will he get back from Michigan?”

“Probably another spell like it.” Deaton replies. “But that doesn’t matter. We should talk about the deal.”

Scott nods. “He’s right. We need to decide if we’re going to take it or not.”

Derek nods, exhaling. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The next chapter. I'm only about 75% happy with it, but okay. I wanted to get it out. Thank you so much for reading, every single one of you push me to write more. 
> 
> Once more, here's my tumblr
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/doa333
> 
> I still haven't made anything for it, but I'll try to get something out for it soon. Please check it out in the future! Thanks!


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